And We Know The Similarities
by Haikoui
Summary: Four years before the Inception, Miles is introduced to who would soon be the most talented student he'd ever taught. Mal is unwilling to accept that the girl is so similar yet so different from her betrothed. Her fiancé, Dom, is just too dense to care.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **And We Know The Similarities

**Author: **Haikoui

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Inception. At all, as much as I wished I did. Someday, maybe I'll meet Christopher Nolan... and I'll ask him just how awesome it was to make Inception... ahh, that man is a genius.

**Summary: **Four years before the Inception, Miles is introduced to who would soon be the most talented student he'd ever taught. Mal doesn't want to accept that the student is so similar and so different from her betrothed. Her fiancé, Dom Cobb, is just too dense and thick headed to even care. For now, anyway.

* * *

"Ariadne Bishop," said the young eighteen year old at the front of room. "It's nice to meet you, Professor."

The teacher at the front of the lecture hall gave a nod in acknowledgment. It wasn't hard to base first impressions on how well students talked. So far, this one seemed good. She was fresh out of a school from the states, passing with top marks, and moved to Paris to study architecture (at least, that was what she said). Miles could remember the time he taught his future son-in-law, the way he'd held himself the exact same way this _Ariadne_ girl did. He could remember the introduction like it was yesterday, when in fact it was thirteen years ago.

_"Dominic Cobb. It's nice to meet you, Professor." _And he'd gone on and on about where he'd graduated in high school, why he'd moved to Paris for college. Passing with top marks, apparently.

"I'm here to enjoy the simple things of life." Her chestnut eyes were probing and deep.

_"I'm here to explore the possibilities I have in my life." _His ocean eyes had been hard and determined. That was the only difference.

After a few seconds, Miles noticed she had stopped speaking, and the rest of the students were slightly impatient, doodling on pads of paper or staring off into the distance. He said the first thing that popped into his head, the first thing that he had said to his other student thirteen years ago. "A pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," she answered, smiling widely.

_"Likewise," _he replied in Miles's mind, grinning so hard that the professor feared his face might split in half.

She sat down and waited patiently as the others stood and began their nervous introductions. In his mind's eye, his future son-in-law sat and fidgeted, impatient to begin working.

After class, during her lunch break, Ariadne waited. Miles was surprised to see her sitting quietly at his desk, observing the trinkets lying on his workplace, unmoving, at a distance. He wondered just how many similarities he would find.

_"Hello, sir," _Dom Cobb said, his lips twisting into a grin as he pushed some of his dirty blond hair out of his eyes.

"Hello, sir," said Ariadne, giving a soft smile, pulling her deep brown hair behind her ear.

Miles gave a calm nod and sat down behind his desk as she watched him. And all of a sudden, the phone rang mercilessly. It was probably Marie, his wife, and he groaned inwardly, debating whether he should pick it up.

"Aren't you going to – ?" Ariadne started hesitantly, as though she wasn't sure whether she should invade his thoughts.

"Oh. Yes, of course." Well, no choice now. His wife would probably question him about his newest batch of students. Well, she wouldn't like them anyway. Maybe some. Considering the fact that she didn't trust Dom at all, she most probably wouldn't like this young lady, either. He carefully pried the phone away from the receiver.

"Hello?"

_"Oh, hello, dear. How are your new students?"_

His wife's voice was very easy to hear over the phone. Miles saw Ariadne shift uncomfortably and he decided to say exactly what he remembered when he had first met Dom. "Wonderful. There's one that's just so bright and I can already tell they're a winner."

He shot a wink to the person in the chair. Dom leaned back, satisfied. Ariadne leaned closer, propping her chin on her palms in curiosity.

And of course, there was a pregnant pause over the line. Finally, Marie said tersely, _"That's great, sweetheart."_

"Thank you. How has your day been?"

Another pause. _"Mal came over today. She should be at the campus soon."_

Miles smiled at the wall behind Ariadne, and she turned in order to track his smile. Unable to, she twisted back around, slightly puzzled. "Well, I'll be sure to expect her, then."

"_Alright. That was all, then." _His wife faltered once more, and then continued in a colder tone, _"And later, we can talk about your new student."_

Ariadne, sensing the tone in her voice, furrowed her brows. Dom, in her place, smirked and folded his hands neatly over his lap.

Miles bid goodbye to his wife and set the phone back down on the receiver. "I apologize," he said, addressing the young woman on the other side of his desk. "My daughter will be coming around shortly, and so I will be a bit occupied when she comes around."

"Oh. Should I leave, then?" Her reaction was so much more modest than Dom's. He'd been eager and hard set to discover. Ariadne seemed more tamed and warm, ready to explore when she needed to. Miles remembered the first day when Dom had come to his desk after class, right after Miles had met him. Miles remembered the call from his wife, nearly the same. _"Mal will be at the campus soon."_

Dom had sat up in excitement after hearing the voice travel loudly over the phone. Of course. He had been a teenager with hormones, and architecture wasn't the only thing he'd been willing to explore. "My daughter will be coming to the campus. I might be a bit busy," Miles had told him that fateful day.

"_No problem,"_ Dom had answered. _"I can wait. I'll find something to do."_

His idea of 'finding something to do' was meeting Mal and being taken with her nearly immediately. But he hadn't seen her around the halls, and years later, he had met Mal again in an illegal extracting team for dreams. But of course, before that, he had migrated into Miles's lecture hall after class in case she ever showed up again.

For minutes, Miles sat and discussed with his newest student. She was polite and respected him. He found that she adored designing buildings. She loved imagining a place to live, a place to work, and multiple places for others to enjoy. "It stays," she explained logically. "It's stable and it's constant, and it has to be something you enjoy. Otherwise, it's useless. There's no point living in a place you don't like. To be able to build a safe haven where you can think and also have fun, you get to enjoy everything."

Miles could remember Dom's explanation. _"It's a symbol. It represents you. It shows the way you think and the way you operate. It lets you explore your mind's best qualities – sometimes your worst, sure, if you're a pessimist."_

The door was knocked on firmly, and beyond the morphed windows, Miles spotted his betrothed daughter waiting on the other side. He excused himself and crossed to the door, opening it. Mal gave him a tight hug, but he felt her tense at the sight of his new student sitting awkwardly in a chair.

After she pulled away, she walked toward her. Ariadne looked up and smiled slightly, but Mal gave her a condescending look and sat across from her, in Miles's seat. "The last time I saw a student in your office when I visited was with Dom," she said, raising an eyebrow.

"Dom?" questioned Ariadne, her brows furrowing.

"My _fiancé,"_ she answered, her slight accent emphasizing the word.

"You wouldn't believe the similarities." Miles picked up his mug of coffee from his desk and took a careful sip.

"How many can there be? She's a woman," said Mal, pursing her lips. "There aren't many similarities there."

Ariadne's eyes switched between Miles and Mal, slightly bewildered. She raised her hand as an interjection and at Miles's nod, she said, "Pardon me. I'm afraid I don't understand..."

"My fiancé is somewhat of an architect," Mal said, lifting her chin up defiantly. "He's very good."

"He was a lot like you," Miles added. He felt the need to block Miss Bishop from his daughter, because at times, Mal could get nasty.

However, Mal shrugged and said, "Well, I just wanted to give you the list of who's attending the wedding." She handed Miles a neatly folded paper and stood up. "That's all."

Her gaze turned to Ariadne, who met it with a gaze equal in strength. After a few seconds, Mal gave a light laugh. "You're good."

Ariadne, dumbfounded, sat back. "What?"

"The only other person who could do that the first time I did it to them was Dom. You might be right, _papa,"_ she added to Miles, her French accent beautifying the last word.

"Will Dom be picking you up?"

"Oh, yes, he'll be here any minute."

There was a shuffling, and Miles saw Ariadne rise from her chair. "I should get going, Professor," she said apologetically. "I'm looking forward to tomorrow's first lesson."

"_I can't wait for tomorrow's class."_ Dom pulled his bag over his shoulder, already unruly with papers and pencils.

Miles smiled gently. "Of course, Miss Bishop. Enjoy the rest of your day. Enjoy Paris."

Ariadne left with a nod, and Mal watched her leave. As soon as the door shut, Mal said, "There's something about that girl."

"That she's just like Dom?"

"Yes. No. Maybe." Mal exhaled in frustration. "She's the same but she's different. I don't understand her."

"Then perhaps I understand her far too well already," Miles mused.

Mal shook her head, her dark curls flying around wildly. Her ice blue eyes trained themselves on her father. "She bothers me. I can't tell what it is."

"Perhaps it is jealousy."

"Jealousy? _Papa,_ are you mad? She is… how many years younger than Dom? Eleven? Twelve?"

Miles wanted to laugh at her immediate suspicions. "I didn't mean jealousy against her for perhaps taking Dom. I meant that it is perhaps jealousy for being more like him and drastically different at the same time, that perhaps when you do not understand your fiancé, she will be more able to."

Mal gave a noise of contempt. "Oh, _papa,_ you are getting too old. That is ridiculous, and you know it. I understand Dom perfectly well; it is why we are getting married."

"Whatever you say, sweetheart," said Miles, giving her a smile. Mal's lips thinned and she said, "Well, perhaps we should look over the guest list."

* * *

She'd almost made the front of the university, rummaging through her sheets, when she suddenly collided into a hard, warm object, and her belongings flew obscene distances away from her. Cursing, she composed herself and pulled herself to her school bag, packing her notebooks and papers away.

A hand appeared in front of her and offered her new textbook to put away. "Sorry," said the owner of the hand, and she heard the man chuckle sheepishly. "I guess I wasn't looking."

Her eyes shot upwards and was met with eyes the color of the sea. Immediately, she felt stupid. Immensely stupid. "No. It's my fault," she said.

He shrugged as he handed her some more sheets of paper. "Well, at any rate, you have quite a mouth on you."

"Oh… wait, what?"

"Your sense of vocabulary is a bit… vulgar," he said, and he turned around, looking a bit uncomfortable.

She could just slap herself! She'd immediately gone off and turned into a swearing sailor when he'd knocked into her. Her encounter with that lady had bothered her more than she thought. "Oh, geez, I'm sorry. I'm not normally like that."

"Yeah, me neither," said the man, giving her a wide grin. "I guess I never really got out of that college attitude. You're a student here, right?"

She nodded, losing her train of thought as she watched him. He gave another large grin and added, "Yeah. I was a bit of a troublemaker. Thankfully, I'm getting better… I hope…"

Ariadne wanted to reply that she _wasn't_ a troublemaker, and that she just got a bit fussed up, but he handed her the last of her belongings and stood. "Well, I have to go pick someone up. Hope you enjoy learning about architecture. I know _I_ did."

He hurried away without another word before Ariadne could even open her mouth for a goodbye. The immediate thought that shot through her head was slightly bewildered and offended. _So. This is Dom.

* * *

_

**I recently read the script of the movie (it's really good hahaha) and I found out that apparently Miles's wife's name is Marie. Well, it's implied, anyway. And I saw on various stories here where Ariadne's last name was chosen as Bishop and I am _just_ _saying_ that that is an awesome name and it suits her completely. So I'm using it. Kudos to the person who thought that up first.**

**Also! Cobb may seem REALLY REALLY OOC, but honestly, I don't think he is. This is four years before the inception, before Mal died, and before they even went into Limbo together. When Cobb was describing about his first descent into Limbo, he said he was curious and wanted to keep going. And he was persistent. Using this, I tried to build what seemed like him before any of it happened. Trust me. It was hard.**

**Also… I'm using the ages in the script. Cobb is described as a 35 year old man. I'm not completely sure about Ariadne, but I'm guessing that around the movie time, she was 23-ish, maybe 22. And four years earlier would bring both of them to 31 and 19/18, respectively. :]**

**This will be a multi-chapter story. Of course. Enjoy! (I hope I can get somewhere with this…)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** As much as I wish my thinking was as awesome as Nolan's, it isn't. Inception belongs to him.

**Notes: **Thanks to everyone for the encouragement. It means a lot. I'll be working on this and TNE (Top Never Ending) for the time being. Mainly because Cobb is dragging TNE in a way that I'm afraid to go because it may turn a bit OOC. And Fischer's trying to drag it in another way, and he's not even supposed to do that because as much as I adore him, he's not the point of the story… ah, well. I hope Cobb (and perhaps Ariadne) will be more merciful about this. :]

* * *

The door to the lecture hall opened and a man of thirty-one years, named Dom Cobb, edged in quietly as he saw his fiancée speaking to her father in quiet tones about the guest list for the upcoming wedding. Silently, he stood for a moment, marveling in the scene. He couldn't wait for the next era of his life with her. As infuriating as she could be at times, she also understood him better than anyone else he knew. And the dreaming! She was the most talented person he'd seen. She extracted information perfectly, and she'd never failed at it. He loved extracting – perhaps maybe later, she would give him a try – but being the architect of every job was fantastic. Miles's teaching had gone to good use.

Dom cleared his throat and Miles looked up, and a second later, Mal joined him. A smile spread across her lips. "Dom," she said, acknowledging him gracefully, and she stood up from her seat. A goddess. That was what she was.

"Sorry, I'm a bit late," he apologized, moving down the hall to meet up with his fiancée and his future father-in-law. The image of the young student who had sworn violently when he had accidentally ran into her appeared in front of him for a second. And then, the figure vanished. "I bumped into a student in the hall. She wants to study architecture."

Miles gave an unnaturally large smile but said nothing. However, Mal gave a sniff and moved closer, placing a kiss on his lips. "That was Miles's newest student. Apparently she's a lot like you, but I don't see how."

Dom didn't see how either, except perhaps the language, so he let it go. "Well. She'll be quite good at what she does, won't she?"

_Good? She'll be excellent. Maybe even better than you, Dom, _Miles couldn't help thinking as he watched Mal whisper in Dom's ear, "I have something to tell you."

They both sat in seats close to the desk, and Mal leaned over to Miles. "And you too, father."

"Well, go on, dear," said Miles, and Dom nodded, propping his head on his knuckles.

The door to the lecture hall opened briskly and a young student entered. The same one. "Hello, Miss Bishop," Miles called, and the young lady gave a weak smile, spotting Dom and Mal in the seats across from her new professor's desk.

"Sorry. I was planning on giving you a simple blueprint of my work, just so you know how I do things," she said, moving down to the desk and placing a folder on its surface. Mal discreetly rolled her eyes, but Dom looked interested and reached for the folder himself. Miles slapped his hand away and said, "Dom, professors only."

Suddenly, Dom was thirteen years younger. And he was standing beside Miles's desk, his blond hair falling over his eyes, and his hands holding a professional folder. _"A blueprint, so you know how I want to learn and how I want to succeed in this class." _A smirk came along with it.

"Thank you," said Miles, giving a soft smile to his newest student. However, she was watching Dom warily and had forgotten everything else, it seemed, because Mal had suddenly said, "I'm pregnant."

Miles let his grin widen at both the wonderful news and Dom's priceless reaction. The architect had become slack-jawed, ocean eyes round in shock, and totally, _totally_ frozen in his seat. Mal crossed her legs and pushed her hair behind her ear. And Miles's young student, Ariadne, stood poker-faced as she took in the information that had no relevance to her whatsoever, the information that had been revealed when she was here at the wrong time.

However, though Dom might have missed it as his mouth slowly morphed into the most glowing smile anyone had ever seen, Miles noticed the obvious glare Mal shot Ariadne. _And they had only known each other for barely ten minutes._

"Really?" whispered Dom, barely mouthing the word as his lips remained stretched over his teeth.

Mal gave him a bright, carefully perfected smile and replied, "Truly." And Dom leapt off his chair and lifted his fiancée off of her own and spun her around as Miles watched with a very awkward and out of place Ariadne Bishop.

"This hadn't happened thirteen years ago," Miles told her and Ariadne looked around before realizing her professor had spoken.

"Sorry?"

Miles chuckled and took another long sip from his coffee. "Oh, it's just that you and Dom are so alike. I can't help but compare you and him every time something happens."

He didn't miss the offended look, either. "Me? Like him?" She motioned to the man now hugging his goddess of a fiancée, oblivious to the world around them as they talked about their inevitable future together. "Not in the slightest."

"You'd be surprised, Miss Bishop," Miles told her.

"Great." Ariadne let herself pause for a second before saying, "Your daughter doesn't seem to like me very much."

"She relies too much on first impressions. I'm afraid I contributed a lot to yours."

Ariadne nodded before gesturing to the folder on the desk. "Please look at that in your free time. This is my dream."

An eighteen year old Dom replaced her. _"Building is my life. I dream of it, every day. Professor, look at it when you have the chance."_

And what was Dom doing now? Extractions with his fiancée and illegal jobs to feed off of the drug that was dreams. A shock of fear ran through Miles and he nodded tightly. "I will."

Ariadne carefully stepped around the couple and out of the room in a matter of seconds, and Miles cleared his throat. "Mal?"

Mal pulled away from Dom and gave her father a look. "Aren't you happy for us?"

"Did you have to say such a thing with one of my students in the room?" Miles retorted, calmly setting his mug back onto the desk.

Dom gave a light laugh and replied in Mal's stead. "It was the heat of the moment. Mal was just too excited. And honestly, this is amazing," he added, giving Mal another kiss. "I can see why she couldn't wait. Your student just happened to be here at the wrong time. Inconvenient for her, I guess."

_Just you see,_ Miles answered inwardly. _Just you see. One day, she'll be in your footsteps and I won't be able to stop her. She might be smarter but it won't be enough to stop her from falling into the realm of dreams. _

"Be a little careful next time with your… news," Miles warned softly, rising from his chair and picking up the folder.

Mal made a noise in the back of her throat but Dom watched as Miles moved to his office with the folder. Dom carefully pulled away from his fiancée and followed him. Miles halted and gave him a hard look.

"What?" said Dom defensively. "You don't like working in there anyway, can't I join you so you have some company?"

"Dom, I'm letting you have your privacy. You need to enjoy this moment with Mal," Miles countered, giving a close-lipped smile.

Mal huffed, placing her hands on her hips. "_Papa,_ maybe the blueprints can be useful for our next job."

Miles, for a second, was stunned at her gall to suggest such a thing. But it was natural for her to want to look at some things, and seconds later, Dom nodded, concurring. Miles stood silently at the entrance to his office. He wasn't about to let them take a young student and corrupt her. No way in hell. But Miles could tell that they weren't going to let it go. Once Mal started, she went until she was finished, and Dom followed her. So Miles said the one thing he could for now. "Later."

Mal shrugged and turned away as Dom's excitement deflated rapidly. He opened his mouth to protest, but Miles shook his head, and the architect closed it, giving his future father-in-law a boiling glare.

Minutes later, with Miles in his office and just beginning to open the folder, there was a soft knock on the door and Mal called gently, "We'll be leaving now, _papa."_

"Enjoy yourselves," Miles replied, unfolding the blueprint. There was a pause, and her heels started to click away. Miles released a breath he had no idea he was holding and carefully examined the blueprint in front of him.

* * *

He finished two hours later, staring at the blueprint in awe. This girl, Miss Ariadne Bishop, was absolute raw talent. He'd even pulled out an old copy of Dom's and compared it. They thought exactly alike, but where Dom's designs were left for them to hide themselves against projections, Ariadne's was designed to hide the projections from _them._

Miles stopped himself. He'd been thinking about dreams. Her construction was one so dreamlike that he'd forgotten she hadn't been corrupted yet. That was one more reason to try and hold her back from Dom and Mal. The professor examined the blueprints once more. She'd made notes in the margins, asking questions and discussing her ideas, her inspirations.

Suddenly, the phone rang diligently and Miles slowly placed the blueprints on his office desk, unable to take his eyes off of the designs. Sure, there were quite a bit of errors, but that would be taken care of in his class. But it was unlike anything he had ever seen, and _that_ was saying something.

He answered the phone on the second ring. "Professor Miles, lecture hall."

"_Miles!"_

"Oh. Hello, Dom."

"_Yeah, hello. Listen, I want to see that blueprint."_

"Dom, there is nothing to see," Miles said quietly, leaning into the phone. "Honestly." And an idea popped into his mind. "It really isn't special. Not that great. I was wrong when I said she was like you."

There was a lengthy pause, and then – _"You're lying."_

Miles froze. "What?"

"_Look, Miles, I know you. And you're an amazing professor. But please, I've known you for thirteen years. And I know when you're lying."_

"I'm serious about this, Dom. There is really nothing to see." Miles wasn't about to let Miss Bishop be sucked into the terrible land of dreams. Mal and Dom were already in too deep to take out. He hated to admit it, but he wouldn't be surprised if somehow in the near future, something terrible would happen to one of them, or maybe even both.

Dom sighed over the phone, and Miles could almost see him run his hand through his hair in frustration. _"Miles… if there was really nothing to see, why would you be against me seeing it? She can be just like us – see how happy Mal and I are?"_

"Please, Dom." Miles was tired of it. "Just… not her."

"_I don't get it, Miles. You just met her. Why would you care?"_

"And you don't even know her name."

Another long, tense pause. Finally, Dom told him, _"You're right. Okay, Miles. But don't be surprised if one day I come over to see it."_

"How's Mal?" The professor decided to change the subject. Ariadne had been the subject of their conversations for a good amount of time today.

"_She's amazing." _Dom's tone changed instantly. _"Hell, she called Arthur. He's coming over later. Mal wants him as the godfather."_

"Ah. Arthur. The young researcher?"

"_Please, Miles, he's the point man of nearly all of our jobs. You could at least call him that…"_

Miles smiled into the phone and nodded. "I'll try. Would you put Mal on the phone for me?"

"_Of course. One second." _And Miles heard Dom pull away from the phone and call for Miles's young daughter, who answered the phone promptly with a delicate French voice. "_Bonjour, papa."_

"Hello to you too, dear."

His daughter laughed warmly over the phone, and Miles felt his heart lighten. At times, Mal became cold and separated from the world, trapped in her thoughts, close minded. However, she was mainly amiable and an all around lovely woman, and Miles was proud of being her father. But he felt like a father to many, and the new student happened to take over his thoughts again. He shoved the thought away. _"Arthur is coming, papa. Peut-être, you can come over and visit as well?"_

"I am quite busy, Mal." Miles rejected her offer politely. "Perhaps later."

And suddenly, her tone turned tense. _"It's that girl. Mademoiselle Bishop. You've looked at her blueprints."_

"As I've told Dom, there is nothing to see."

"_I did not hear. I was in the kitchen."_

Well. That was even better. She did not hear that Dom had found out the truth. "Well, yes. It is honestly nothing special."

"_Well, then, papa, tu étais incorrects. You were wrong. She is not like Dom in anyway."_

_Oh, Mal. You don't even know…_ Miles thought sadly, shifting through the designs on his desk. "Yes, Mal, dear, you were right."

"_Est-ce que Dom t'a dit? __Has Dom told you? About making Arthur the godfather?"_

"Oh, yes. Wonderful news. He will be the best, I'm sure."

Mal gave a light laugh over the phone. _"Absolument. Alors, papa, I will talk to you later. Take care."_

"Thank you, sweetheart."

"_Oh… and papa, if that girl produces anything good, I want to see it."_

No. He wouldn't allow that. He might be Mal's father, but he was a figure just as important to his students, and he'd be damned if he were going to lead any of them into hell. "Perhaps. If she does anything worthwhile. We'll see."

* * *

It was night time, and Ariadne had finished all of her classes and her studies. She wanted to be prepared for anything because she wanted her life's ambition to actually be accomplished. Ariadne sincerely hoped that Professor Miles had looked over her designs, because she had put her heart and soul into those. They were the blueprints she had used to apply for the scholarship to the university. And if they'd gotten her in, they were bound to be something useful. Sure, there had been errors she'd been unsure about how to fix, but that's where Professor Miles came in. But the thing that had bothered her was the couple. Something was odd about them. The man, Dom, had struck something inside her and her professor had been very proud when he stated that she and Dom were very alike. And she didn't even know his last name!

Ariadne slung her bag over her shoulder as she entered her new studio apartment. It was small but it suited her needs just fine. A desk in the corner was already littered with new blueprints, but she could hardly come up with something useful. She had no inspiration whatsoever, which was why she was waiting for her designs to come back from Miles, and the faster, the better.

_Crash!_

Ariadne whipped around. The shatter had come from the room across from her apartment and she went back to the door to look through the peephole.

The door to the other apartment opened and a man in his early thirties carried a broken glass out of the apartment. "I'm just going to take this to the chute. Don't worry about it, and when Arthur comes, everything will be cleaned up."

Ariadne was really getting tired of this. She vowed to never leave the apartment until they were safely asleep, or until they were either gone in the morning, or far from leaving.

* * *

**And soon, this story will be fast-forwarded to four years in the future. You'll see how, but it won't be for the next two or three chapters. I hope this didn't turn out too odd either. Please please **_**please**_** tell me if there's anything I can improve. I'm still slightly new to Inception :]**

**Oh. And Mal and Dom are in the apartment still because they haven't moved to LA yet. Just a note.**

**Love you all! (And this Bishop thing is awesome.)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: ** Inception. Doesn't. Belong. To. Me.

At all.

:/

* * *

Days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months, and yet Ariadne somehow succeeded in avoiding the couple every morning and every night. She kept up with her studies and remained the top in the class, and as far as she was concerned, Professor Miles kept this fact hidden from everyone else. "No one needs to know that you're far above the others," he told her one day after class, and she agreed, though she was confused as to why. He'd looked at her designs and praised them, but she'd asked for advice.

"You'll learn them in time," he told her.

"But – "

"In time, Ariadne."

Ariadne decided not to question him further about this and instead focused on improving her designs outside of class, in her studio apartment, with blueprints scattered over her bed and her desk, and even on her tiny coffee table in front of the minuscule television set. One day, as she sat on her bed with designs littered all around her, there was a knock on her front door and she froze. Could that be – ?

She panicked. She remembered the day when the man, Dom, had eagerly reached for her first blueprint. She'd seen the hunger in the woman's eyes, Mal. "Who is it?" she called, hoping that the strain in her voice couldn't be heard as she shot from her bed and scrambled to gather all her designs. _There must be at least fifty,_ she thought quickly, and took her folder from her college bag.

"I'm your neighbor down the hall, _chérie,"_ said the very clear and unmistakable voice of that woman, Mal. "I'm sorry it took so long to visit. I want to congratulate you on moving here."

And now, Ariadne was seriously in trouble. She scoured the apartment in case any other designs were still at large, stuffing them into her folder and back into her college bag. Finally, she took a look at herself in the mirror. Decent enough.

The door opened to reveal a glowing French woman with a basket of croissants. The smile that had been on Mal's face twitched slightly, but that was probably Ariadne's imagination, and Mal said brightly, "Well, Miss Bishop, I didn't know you were the one who moved here! May I?" She motioned to the inside of her apartment.

Ariadne granted her entry and shut the door softly behind her, still slightly dazed. Mal had grown. By grown, Ariadne meant her bump was now very visible. Mal placed the basket of croissants on Ariadne's coffee table and let another smile form on her lips. "Congratulations on moving here. This apartment is quite the spectacle, _chérie," _said the woman, looking around. "I would live here longer, but…"

"You're moving?" Ariadne inquired quickly, enormously relieved. There would be no more need for secrecies around here.

"Oh, yes, Dom and I are looking for a place to live in the states. California, to be exact. Dom loves California, _il l'adore, _he was born there." Mal placed a hand on her stomach. The hostilities from before were gone… or Mal was doing a very good job at hiding them. "And we need a new house. We cannot raise a child in a small apartment, such as these."

"How… how many months are you?"

"Three," said Mal proudly. "Three and I feel _fantastique."_ The woman looked around some more and said, "You will enjoy Paris. There is a lot of freedom here."

After minutes of talking, Mal bid goodbye, and for a second, she looked distracted, her eyes roaming the house with a sort of unnatural gleam, and Ariadne felt much better about hiding her designs. Unsatisfied, Mal walked to the door and gave another smile, which barely reached her deep sapphire eyes. The door shut behind her, leaving an unearthly echo.

Ariadne exhaled tensely and collapsed onto her bed, shutting her eyes. _For goodness sakes, _this was driving her mad. _Insane. _ Mal had avidly been searching for her designs, and Ariadne couldn't help but wonder why. _Mal _wasn't an architect. Sure, her husband was, but what was _he _going to do with it?

Ariadne stood from her bed and rummaged through her college bag. She wanted to look at that blueprint again. It had been the only thing she'd really loved, and she hadn't found the inspiration for another one, though she still made designs for her classes that Professor Miles absolutely adored… and refused to share with anyone else.

She spotted it within the mass of other blueprints and pulled it out, regarding it closely. Yes, it was still her favorite after all these months, and she couldn't find the inspiration to do another one. She remembered the way she had acquired the inspiration – in a dream. She had been dreaming and she remembered that she had traveled through something maze like, and so beautiful, so intricately designed that she could hardly believe it was a dream. It was so realistic and she remembered thinking, _This is it. This is the design. _If it wasn't real, she would make it real.

But she hadn't had any other dreams like it, and she was disappointed. Every night she went to bed wishing that something, _anything,_ would come to her. Alas, it hadn't happened. One day, she had told Miles about it.

"Every night," she had explained to him one day after school. "Every night I go to bed hoping that it will come to me in a dream."

All of a sudden, he'd looked pained and said, "No, Ariadne, you don't have to dream of designs, just think of them."

Ariadne had given no other protest, but she lay in her bed each night praying that she would come across another fabrication from her mind. She knew she could do it. So why wouldn't it happen?

Her mind turned to the happy couple across the hall and their odd behavior with her blueprint. Especially Mal's recent behavior. Ariadne was convinced that Mal had been looking for a design, any design, but why, the young student was unsure.

Honestly, why anyone would search so avidly for a design was beyond her. It wasn't like they were going to actually build anything with it. Besides, Ariadne's designs were mainly maze-like, and even though Miles was adamant that her designs were beyond the expectations of the class, Ariadne couldn't help but think that mazes would do nothing, really. The outward designs were beautiful. The inward designs were intricate and complex. But really, people didn't care about mazes. They just cared about getting where they wanted to. So why, _why_ would Mal – and Dom – care about her designs so much? They barely knew anything about her anyway (unless Miles decided to tell them). If anything, after they moved, they would probably forget all about her.

And frankly, she hoped that when all this was over, she would forget about them too.

* * *

Dom Cobb was irritated.

Mal had come back with an armful of baby clothing from the store and had careful packed it into a moving box. Of course, Dom hadn't been bothered about that. He'd been bothered about the response he'd gotten when he'd asked, "Have you welcomed the new neighbor we have?"

"Oh, yes," she said tartly, taping up the box. "_Oui,_ I even brought them some croissants."

"Who was it?"

"No one – just an American lady." Mal set the suit case on the hardwood floor and smiled at her husband. "She just moved to Paris."

"We should give her a tour," Dom suggested, heaving the box up so he could move it to the hallway. "Before we leave."

"There will be no need for that," she disagreed. "She's been here for months already."

Though thoroughly displeased with the answer (because Dom was used to being a good neighbor to those around him), he reluctantly accepted his wife's words and slipped out of the apartment to place the box by the door, along with all the other moving boxes. He'd called the post earlier today and scheduled a time when the belongings would be sent to the states, and was expecting a man to visit to collect a bit of their things.

Days later, Mal came home from the supermarket with another job, an extraction from a senator of the United States, and for once in his life, Dom didn't want her getting in it.

"Mal, think of our child," he said pleadingly as she stubbornly shook her head. "Please, Mal. Listen to me. If anything happens, _our child_ will be at risk."

"Oh, Dom," she sighed, touching his face with a perfectly sculpted hand. "I know the risks, Dom, and we will be fine. Our child will be fine."

"We need a good architect, Mal," said Dom desperately. Mal's eyes flashed for a second before she whispered back, "_Je sais. _I know."

* * *

Later that day, Dom burst into the lecture hall at Miles's university with shaking hands. Miles looked up in surprise, then in slight disapproval as he watched his door swing shut weakly behind the thirty one year old man.

"Blueprint," said Dom. "I need it. Now. If it's not good, I'll _fix it."_

"Dom, think of what you're doing."

"I don't give a rat's ass," Dom said furiously, his feet carrying him swiftly down the stairs and in front of the professor's desk. "My child is at risk. We got a job and _my child is at risk."_

"Then don't do it, Dom," said Miles calmly, looking up at him.

Dom stuttered for a second before narrowing his eyes, spreading his hands on Miles's desk. "Miles, I tried to get her not to come in. For once, _I_ would do the extraction, if necessary."

"Dom, how about just not doing it?" said Miles, getting more and more exasperated by the second.

"What do you mean, _not doing it?"_

"I mean exactly that."

The architect felt himself growing annoyed and he leaned closer. But before he could begin, Miles's expression morphed into a sad, wistful one, and the professor murmured, "Dom, you're addicted."

"I am not addi – "

"Yes, you are, and you've got to stop. This is going to lead somewhere terrible and you know it will." Miles's eyes were both hard and soft at the same time, just as father would look. But Dom was unwilling to accept it. The worse would have already come by now. What else could be more terrible than extracting secrets from other people's minds?

Dom sighed and ran a hand through his gelled back hair. "Miles, please, I just need a blueprint. One blueprint. I'll even edit it as much as possible to get it to work, to make it unrecognizable. I don't have the _time_ to make one myself. The extraction is in a week and that is less time to even make _half_ of a suitable maze."

But Miles could see Ariadne in front of him, handing him design after design, day after day. She made them in minutes. Her best blueprint, the one she'd used to apply for a scholarship, had taken her five hours, she'd told him.

And a younger Dom was in her place, with his hands full of designs as well, and they were insatiable. He went through designs like he went through pencils, and Miles looked back at the older Dom with sad eyes. "What happened to you, Dom?"

Dom understood immediately, but he took his time to answer, looking around the room as though trying to distract himself. But there was no point, he knew, and Dom said, "Jobs, Miles. That's what happened."

"You don't like building for them?"

"I love it. But for once, I just want to feel the thrill of extracting," the man admitted, collapsing in a chair in front of the desk. "I just want to be able to come in the dream every single time than sitting out of it when the job's far too easy."

"So you want to extract."

"I just want to try it, once," Dom corrected, clasping his hands on his lap.

Miles's lips thinned and he regarded his future son-in-law with squinted eyes. After a long moment of silence, Miles let a small smile twist his lips. "Dom."

"What," the architect replied stubbornly, his eyes moving to stare fixedly on the professor.

"You need a blueprint?" Miles inquired, and Dom's eyes flashed from confusion to excitement.

Dom unclasped his hands and placed them on his knees, looking more and more interested by the second. "Yeah. I need a blueprint."

"Will you keep Mal out of it?"

"If I get a blueprint, _that _will be the maze and I'll be the extractor, and she'll be safe," said Dom firmly, nodding.

Miles tilted his head in response and said, "There will be one for you tomorrow."

* * *

It was right after class when Ariadne was called into the lecture hall. Professor Miles was cleaning some sheets off of his desk and said, "Hello, Miss Bishop."

Thankfully, the hall was empty. It always was when Miles called her into the hall after school. He motioned for her to come down the stairs and into a seat. She did so in a few seconds and waited for him to begin.

"I have a job for you tonight." Miles gave a slightly strained smile.

Ariadne's head cocked to the right, barely noticeable, and she furrowed her brow. "Is it for class?"

"Oh no." He hoped this wouldn't get her involved in anyway. "I just want you to try and make a design tonight, when you get home. It has to be easy to maneuver in – but I want you to pretend that you're actually in there, in the design. I want you to pretend that someone's following you. _You _need to know where everything is, and they won't. So design something where the person won't find you, but you can find them and you know where they are, and you know where everything is."

This was an odd job.

But Miles wasn't finished. "You normally design buildings which actually do the opposite, Ariadne, where if there is actually a person looking for you, it becomes impossible to find you because they are actually trapped. You probably haven't noticed this. I want you to try this new concept I'm giving to you. Do you think you can get it done for tomorrow?"

This was a _very_ odd job, but Ariadne was determined to keep above the rest of the class, and if challenges were what keeping above the rest of the class meant, she was willing to take it. She shook her head in agreement, but questioned curiously, "Sir, may I ask what this is for?"

Miles didn't respond for a minute, looking deep in thought; Ariadne could see the wheels twisting through his head. Then her professor breathed in deeply. "An architect around here wants to look at it. He wants to just look at a sample of a good blueprint around here. I thought I should give him the best." A smile.

Miles felt terrible, but it wasn't a lie. At the rate things were going, considering the conversations he had with his student nearly everyday, she was already leaning unconsciously to the realm of dreams. It wouldn't be too long until someone noticed her – and that someone would most likely be a certain daughter or son-in-law – and he remembered Dom when he'd been as curious as her. _"I have dreams," _said an eighteen year old Dom, twisting a pencil in his hands, _"where I'm in buildings. They're mazes and I'm running through them. I always know the way. And the mazes are so beautiful. It's like I'm running from something, but they can't catch me, because I wrote the maze and only I know how it works."_ He'd already been so far in, and he was never going to get out. When dreams took over, it never let reality come in its place.

Miles watched as Ariadne gave a smile in response to his own, standing and holding out her hand. "You're getting a blueprint tomorrow, sir," she said, and he grasped her hand, shaking it firmly.

She left and the door slammed again. The ghost of an eighteen year old Dom let the door slam shut as he left for his next blueprint.

* * *

When the thirty one year old architect burst into Professor Miles's lecture hall the next day with an urgency that seemed to be immeasurable, Dom Cobb saw a very familiar young student leaning over an empty desk. In other words, Professor Miles was nowhere to be seen. But this was the student he'd seen before, despite it being months ago, and he wondered briefly why she was here, before he saw the blueprint in her hands.

He cleared his throat, his hands shaking (because Mal still hadn't accepted the fact that she shouldn't do the job), and the student whipped around, her eyes wide. Maybe it was Dom's imagination, but he thought she flinched and leaned against the desk, but then she gave a timid smile.

"Sorry," said Dom. "Is Miles here?" He looked around, as if expecting the professor to suddenly walk through the walls.

The student shifted on her feet. "Actually… I'm waiting for him…"

"What for?" He wanted to know about the blueprint in her hands. She tried to inconspicuously move the blueprint out of his sight, but he noticed. "Is that a design?"

_Too many questions! _Ariadne wanted to run away, far, _far_ away, because she could see the little hungry gleam in his eyes, even from the distance as he stood at the top of the stairs in the hall. He was waiting, and she had to respond. "Oh. It's an assignment for Professor Miles, he asked for it."

Dom gave a large smile. "Really? Why'd he want it?" His hands were itching for the blueprint. He didn't care how bad it was, he needed it and he would fix it if it wasn't good enough. He'd make it unrecognizable if he had to.

"He wanted it f-for an architect who c-came around," she stuttered, placing the blueprint on Miles's desk and placing a trembling hand on it to keep it there.

The architect's smile couldn't get any wider. "That's me, I'm the architect," he said, moving down the stairs rapidly – if he could, he would probably fly. "I asked for a design yesterday."

Suddenly, the door to the lecture hall opened and Professor Miles moved through the threshold and into the hall. He halted at the sight of the two of them, more so at Ariadne's wild, fitful expression. Miles then ran down the stairs and took the blueprint from her as she backed away, looking lost and dazed.

Dom extended his hand confidently. "Come on, Miles," he said, raising his eyebrows. "I'll fix it if I need to."

There was a strangled sob and Ariadne looked furious, her eyes glazed. "You're giving it to him?" she cried, her voice cracking in its strain. "What's he going to do with it? Why is my design so important? You said an architect who wanted to look at samples of the university's work, why'd you have to give _mine_ to _him?"_

Miles moved forward and placed a hand on her shaking shoulder, but she shuddered away and wrapped her arms around herself. "Don't," she breathed, her eyes shifting between the professor and Dom. "Don't give it. Don't give it, sir – "

"I _need _it," said Dom, exasperated, crossing his arms over his chest. "My child is at risk."

"What does a child at risk have to do with a blueprint?" said Ariadne wildly, glaring at him.

Dom's mouth morphed into a small '_o,' _and then he looked incredulous, turning at Miles. "You didn't tell her?"

"Tell me _what?"_ Ariadne demanded.

Miles hurriedly assured her that "It was nothing," but Ariadne fumed as she placed her hands on her hips.

"Dreams, dreams, dreams!" Dom laughed, looking between her and Miles. "The wonder of dreams!"

"Ari, leave," said Miles.

Ariadne remained rooted to the floor, staring incredulously at Dom.

"Ari!"

The student sniffed and rushed away as Dom smiled at the ceiling, and Miles was nearly bristling with anger as he turned on his future son-in-law. "Mal," he began, hardly able to form the words. "Mal is shoving her dreaming nonsense into you. You're becoming too obsessed, Dom!"

Dom only took the design from Miles's hand, and Miles offered no resistance as he continued to rant angrily. "Dom, please, you've got to stop. You're corrupting my students and you don't even know her name."

"What's her name, then?" Dom inquired, but Miles wasn't going to fall for it. The fact that he'd missed her nickname altogether was slightly surprising.

"Dom," Miles said quietly. "Dom, you need to stop."

Dom's eyes suddenly turned tired, but he offered no other response other than, "I love Mal."

Of course. With that, Miles could only watch as Dom unfolded the blueprint to inspect it.

* * *

**Thanks for all the encouragement so far. It's really helping! And there is a sudden surge of Cobb/Ariadne on this site. It. Is. Making. Me. **_**So. HAPPY. **_

**Time to go watch Batman Begins. CILLIAN MURPHY**

**And then after that, Red Eye. CIIIILLLLIIIAAANNN MUUURRPPPHHYYY**

**Love you! :D**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **The wonderful movie that deserves every single Oscar (AKA Inception) belongs to Christopher Nolan and I'm only babysitting his brainchildren.

**Notes: **Love you all. This is so much fun!

* * *

For once in his life, no words could come out of his mouth. The second he'd unfolded that design, he believed his eyes were betraying him, showing him something out of another world. Of course, there were things that wouldn't work in the job – but Dominic Cobb didn't give a damn because he hadn't seen anything this good other than the designs he'd made for his other jobs, but those had taken him an immense amount of time. This one, by the student who had wished so desperately to keep the blueprint away from him, was far beyond outstanding, in terms of dream standards.

Miles was silent as Dom regarded the blueprint with wide ocean eyes, reading over the notes on the sides and looking at the measurements. It was gigantic, it was complex, and it was beautiful. A love of building surged back into him as he remembered his days back in the university with Miles as his teacher, and Dom's eyes turned to the professor. "This," he began softly, shaking the blueprint for emphasis, "is beyond anything I've seen."

The professor sighed and looked away, shaking his head, but offered no response.

Dom tuned back to the design and continued. "I mean, I can make changes to it but I don't want to alter it too much because it's _made_ for dreams. How does she do this?"

With another shake of his head, Miles told the architect, "She dreams it."

"I dreamed it, too," Dom whispered, his eyes scanning over the design in wonder. "I dreamed it every night."

"Do you still dream them?"

"No," Dom answered, folding the blueprint and standing. "I can't. If I try and make designs, I actually think of them. I can still do it but they're not as inspirational and spontaneous."

Miles watched as Dom walked to the top of the stairs in the lecture hall, and before Dom could open the door, the professor called, "With this, can you keep Mal and your baby safe?"

Dom gave a soft chuckle and replied, looking over his shoulder, "With this – " he shook the blueprint to emphasize it, " – I can keep everyone safe."

The architect opened the door and soon there was a loud click and the rattle of the blinds as the door slammed shut.

* * *

Designs were littered across the floor again and her apartment door was bolted tightly as Ariadne stared at the ceiling from her bed. It was late at night and she'd been here all day after class, after that _mortifying_ encounter with the man from across the hall, and she hadn't done anything. His child was at risk? That made no sense whatsoever. What did his baby have to do with anything? Unless he was going to actually build the design, there was no risk at all (certainly if the lady, Mal, wouldn't be there either). A feeling of betrayal seeped into her and she bit her lip in frustration. Miles had been so adamant on not letting anyone see her work, he had _drilled it into her head that no one should see her designs,_ and she felt despaired all of a sudden; Miles had let the young couple down the hall (granted they were his family) look at her designs, and if there was anyone who she _didn't _want having eyes on her blueprints, it was them.

The way they carried themselves! The way they looked around her, observing her with hungry eyes! The way _Mal_'s eyes had beamed through her apartment! The way that man – _Dom –_ had approached her, his eyes begging for the blueprint – it was like they were addicted to building!

But building _what? _Ariadne had been all around Paris. There was not one thing being constructed. And the way _Dom_ had began talking about _dreams._ What did he mean? Dreams weren't reality. Why was he talking about dreams? Did Miles tell him that she had inspiration for her buildings through dreams? Ariadne didn't understand. If anything, she was growing more and more confused by the second and desperately wished for a way out.

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, grabbing her textbook from her desk and sifting through it. It was time to get back to her studies, and though Ariadne wasn't one to give up so easily while trying to decipher a problem, this wasn't making any sense to her whatsoever. The couple down the hall needed to get their heads back into reality. She wondered how Professor Miles could even understand his daughter and her fiancé at all.

* * *

The sky was dark as a young man in his twenties walked silently down the streets of Paris. He'd travelled here again for the second time in three months in order to congratulate his friend, Dom, and he'd been here about a week now. But it wasn't just for cheerful purposes that he was here. In fact, the main reason was quite dangerous and foreboding, but he wasn't one to give up. He had a packet of information to give his friend. They were supposed to carry out a job in the next week, an extraction, and he'd gotten a call from Dom to come to France immediately.

And just hours after settling into his hotel room, his cell rang again and the speaker nearly burst from Dom's enthusiasm; Dom relayed breathlessly over the phone that he had found the _perfect_blueprint.

_"Arthur, it's beautiful," _Dom breathed over the line. Arthur could almost see him looking over the design again in awe. _"And to think a college student did this. Come over quickly."_

"Dom, it's late. Can't I – "

But Dom was insistent and Arthur found himself staring up at the large apartment building the architect and his fiancée lived in. Opening the lobby door, he found Dom waiting for him by the mailboxes on the wall across the phone.

"I hope you didn't cook," Arthur said warningly as Dom led him into the hallway. Dom laughed and shook his head, replying with, "No way in hell. Mal does the cooking."

Soon, the two of them were standing in Dom's apartment and Mal emerged from the kitchen with a glowing smile. "Arthur," she acknowledged, and they all sat down for a home made French buffet.

As Arthur reached for one of the chocolate croissants in front of him, Dom cleared his throat and his demeanor shifted from a welcoming one to a serious, nearly ominous one. He stared Arthur in the eye and gave him a look as if to say, _We need to get working – now._

"Have you got everything covered?" the architect inquired quietly. Arthur nodded, raising an eyebrow, and retorted, "Yeah. You?"

"I've got a design," he said. "And it's fantastic. When we're done, you can look at it."

"You said a college student designed it. Who?" Arthur was curious. The only other person who was remotely capable of doing that was Dom.

But Dom looked slightly uncomfortable. "I don't exactly… know her name," he admitted, and Mal pursed her lips.

"Mal?" Arthur questioned confusedly.

"I don't know either, _chérie," _she said softly. It was true, but Mal only knew her last name – and Mal didn't like this _Mademoiselle Bishop_. She was young and naïve, and didn't know the world of dreams. How anyone could live without dreams, Mal didn't know.

Arthur's lips thinned. "So you don't know her and you took her blueprint."

"It was given to us," said Dom defensively.

"Are you sure it was _willingly _given?" Arthur shot back, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the chair. "Or did she hand it over, crying?"

They had no response to that. Arthur sighed and looked away, noticing for the first time the lack of furniture and belongings in the apartment. "When are you leaving?"

"Right after the job is finished. _Juste après," _Mal informed him. "Maybe a day or two later. We can't stay here that long."

"Los Angeles, right?"

"_Oui,_ that's right."

There was a long, pregnant pause, and it was only after a minute later when Dom stood up. "Well, I'm about to burst. Arthur, how about we look at that blueprint?"

Arthur said nothing, only rising from his chair as well and tailing Dom into the living room where a small sofa remained among many boxes. Arthur watched as Dom picked a large sheet of paper up from where it lay on top of a box and brought it over, motioning for him to sit down on the minuscule sofa.

It was only seconds later when Dom unfolded the blueprint and Arthur's breath caught in his throat. Arthur hadn't seen anything like this since the first job he'd done with Dom, back when Dom was more excited with being the architect than trying out extraction.

"I had that _exact_ reaction," said Dom, chuckling, as his own eyes ran across the paper in glee. "And it's perfect. I only had to make slight adjustments. It's like she dreamed this herself, isn't it?"

The point man felt a slight twinge of regret as he thought of the poor college student who had to deal with her design being pulled away from her, but gave a nod of approval immediately.

"Mal won't be coming in with us, I talked her out of it," Dom said, and a trace of eagerness seeped into his voice. "It's for the good of her and the baby, of course. I'll be doing the extraction this time."

_Ah. So that's why he's so happy. _Arthur couldn't help but hope that Dom would find out that extracting was a very dangerous job. The point man remembered what it was like back when _he_was in university, when he was studying to get a research degree (of course) and when he'd been living with Dom after his parents had died. After Dom had taken a colossal interest in his abilities regarding information and solving ridiculously difficult problems, Arthur had been introduced to the world of dreams, and he spent the rest of his days producing paradoxes. Arthur shifted his focus from a research degree to paradoxes and studying the human mind; his problem solving became more adept and he himself found himself more and more adroit at the art of trickery and closed loops.

But it was dangerous work. Arthur had looked into it and had tried telling this to the couple he was devoted to working for, but the two of them ignored the risks and said, "If it hasn't happened yet, it won't. What's the worst that can happen?" And of course, Arthur had shut his mouth because they were stubborn. And Arthur could relate to the stress of university – he sincerely hoped Dom would go back to his own designing so he wouldn't have to take blueprints from the poor young student.

After a couple more minutes of scrutinizing the design, Arthur gave another nod and moved away. "Yes. It's good. It'll work fine. We just have to work in it once."

"We can do that tomorrow," Dom decided with a slight grin. But a split second later, his features shifted quickly to a hesitant one. "Arthur, I know you don't like this – "

"You're damn right I don't, Dom," Arthur interrupted, glancing at him. "I don't like where this is going. If I could, I'd stop you."

"What makes you think you can't?"

"You love Mal." The answer was said with finality, ringing in the air. Dom shifted uncomfortably in his spot on the sofa.

Finally, the architect licked his lips and looked up. "You're right. I do. I'd follow her to hell and back." His eyebrows rose, nearly disappearing into his hairline. "But this is what we love, Arthur, and honestly, I think I would have been working in dreams even if I hadn't met her."

"But you did," Arthur injected, "and you've been sucked in more than you think."

"Like I said, I'd follow her to hell and back."

Arthur sincerely hoped it wouldn't come to that.

* * *

Across the hall, Ariadne could hear the new man who had arrived at the couple's apartment bid goodbye to Dom. The man said something quick about _testing it out tomorrow,_ and Ariadne couldn't help but briefly wonder if this man was another architect. She hoped with all her might he wasn't.

She peeked through the peephole in her door again and saw Dom wave goodbye to the man, who was out of her field of vision, calling, "I'll see you tomorrow!"

"Goodbye, darling!" Mal's voice carried to Ariadne's ears despite the barrier.

"That's not my name," the man called out as a farewell, and he was gone. Ariadne continued watching as Dom shook his head in amusement and said, "Well, Mal, looks like you're going to be just fine."

Was the man a doctor? Was he taking care of Mal's child? The behavior of this couple was bewildering.

Mal's voice was audible once more. "_Je pourrais le faire. _I can do it. You just won't let me, _chérie._"

"The design is just too complex, sweetheart," said Dom, looking back inside, but still holding the door open. "And you need to stay healthy."

Design? What design? _Ariadne's _design? Her hand flew to her mouth and she dared to take a shaking breath.

"I _am_ healthy," Mal said, coming into Ariadne's line of vision.

"Well, it's a tough extraction and anything can happen."

Extraction? What were they going to do?

"I'm more experienced, we'll be able to get it done quicker, _plus vite, chérie."_

"But the design isn't something you'll be used to. It isn't mine. It's far better. Mal, I love you, and…"

The rest of his words were drowned out as the couple moved back into their apartment and closed the door behind them softly. Ariadne felt terrible and weak, and she checked the bolts. She would take no chances. Praying, praying, _praying_, that she would forget all this one day, she climbed into bed, praising herself that she'd already done her nightly duties and had already brushed her teeth.

And just for luck, she also prayed to dream something tonight.

* * *

**So I was watching the People's Choice Awards and I was quite disappointed. I hope I don't offend any Twilight fans (haha) but the people who voted have no taste. It also shows just how many people didn't have the heart or the brain to watch Inception, because everyone who had it and watched the movie loved it. So how Twilight won is beyond me.**

**Love you all!**

**Enjoy! :D**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **Inception is the epitome of awesome. Too bad I'm not the one who made it. Christopher Nolan, the epitome of awesome x 1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 is the creator of that beast movie.

**Notes: **I lied, it might be a few more chapters until I fast forward. Cobb is dragging this on too long. :P

To all my reviewers: YOU. FREAKING. _ROCK.

* * *

_

The towers were enormously tall, rising to unknown heights and disappearing in the clouds. And the streets! They were snakes, twisting and turning into places Ariadne could hardly imagine were real. She ran through them, bumping into people (and of course, apologizing), and trying to explore everything. This was an amazing place. Where was she? Everything was so unique and completely new to her.

She made a note to draw out this place when she got home, whenever she did, anyway. How did she get here?

She didn't know and she didn't care because this place was gorgeous. She wanted to meet the person who designed it. Parks. Hotels. Stairs that rose to infinity.

Suddenly, all she could see was the ocean. Why just the ocean? It was like she was trapped in what was the most gorgeous architectural designs she had ever seen, but the ocean wasn't architecture – it was life, and it wasn't something she could write out. It was life and death at the same time. Somehow, that stuck with her, and she collapsed on a bench facing it, gazing out at the endless waves of sea-green water.

Eyes.

They were also the color of unbelievably deep eyes, and though Ariadne couldn't remember who, she couldn't pull herself away. Everything about this ocean in front of her – this vast expanse of nothingness and everything at the same time – everything about it was unrealistic. How could the ocean be so calming and so intimidating at the same time? It pained her to watch it, but it pained her to move away, and eventually she worked up her nerve to get up and move closer. In a span of minutes, she was at the shore, taking off her shoes and dipping her toes in the cold, _cold_ water.

And she was staring up at her ceiling, back in Paris, eyes wide as the bright sunlight streamed through her curtains over her bed. Saturday morning. Paris. Miles and miles from the sea. She felt a sudden longing, a twinge in her chest, and the apartment became too stuffy and closed – she shot up from her bed and threw on a jacket over a t-shirt and pajama bottoms, eager to leave the building.

The second she was out of her apartment and in the hallway, she already felt better, reveling in the feeling of wandering the building. But what she _really_ needed was fresh air, the slight breeze that would remind her of the calm but eerie ocean waves that moved toward and away from her like the seconds clocking away as she watched them. As Ariadne pushed the doors of the building open in anticipation, the slight wind molded her hair and she was immediately taken back to her dream, where life was perfect and beautiful.

"Do you like it?"

No way in _hell – !_

Ariadne whipped around, her hands still splayed over the doors and keeping them open, the slightly frigid air pushing into the lobby of the apartment building. Dom stood at the base of the stairs, looking amused. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."

Quickly gathering herself, she stepped back inside quickly and allowed the doors to swing shut. "Sorry."

A smirk. How did he have the guts to smirk at her when he'd stolen her design? But he moved closer, offering a hand. "I didn't know you lived here."

"I moved in," said Ariadne, lifting her chin up defiantly, giving him a hard stare and ignoring his hand. His smirk quickly dissipated and turned into a blank look, and he blinked, dropping his extended hand.

"Did you really?" His eyes gleamed.

Ariadne only watched him silently. Two could play at this game, she decided.

But he moved even closer and his eyes seemed to glow. His deep, ocean eyes.

Ariadne felt her knees go weak and she nearly collapsed as Dom lunged forward and caught her, holding her upright. "Are you okay?" he inquired, and Ariadne could vaguely detect a tone of caution.

"I'm fine." She moved away, the places where he'd touched her burning. "I'm – " But those sea-green eyes were captivating and no matter how desperately she wanted to look away, it was like looking into the ocean again, and the temptation for that was far more powerful.

But he broke the gaze and whispered, "You know, you have a really great talent."

Ariadne hardly dared to breathe and she looked away. If she didn't look at him, then she wouldn't run the risk of being entranced by those eyes… right?

His voice was just as intriguing, unfortunately. She found herself watching him again as he said in the same rough velvet tone, "It's pure imagination, what you have."

"I don't care what I have." The words escaped her quickly than she liked.

He looked shocked for a second before settling with another smirk. "How do you do it?"

Something told her he already knew, but she decided to not let him have the satisfaction of getting the answer directly from her. "Why are you so interested in my designs?"

To her surprise, he looked pleased with her response. "You're still young," he replied, and something flashed through those ocean eyes, those _gorgeous _sea eyes. "When I was your age, I had no idea. I was just like you."

For some reason, this seemed impossible to imagine for her; seeing him her age was a feat that seemed completely unbelievable. But before she could ponder over it further, he said, "My wife is currently discussing our job with our boss. Would you care to take a walk?"

What?

The hesitation that rose in her was nothing compared to the bile that was shooting through her throat. "Job?"

He only smiled at her and led her out of the apartment building.

The eyes were what compelled her to trail after him.

* * *

Dom didn't know what was making him do it. He only knew that he needed to know more. He needed to remember the thrill of building again and what excited the girl he led through the streets of Paris. Because maybe extracting wouldn't be as amazing as what it seemed to be. He had to be ready, right? He wanted to see how this girl's mind worked – he wanted to get his bearings back on architecture, his inspiration and his life.

At some point, he'd slowed down and allowed her to catch up to him. And now they were walking side by side, and he knew they were receiving looks, but he didn't care because he was only here to learn how she worked. Not anything else.

"First, I think learning each other's names would be a good start," Dom said, giving her a smile.

The girl's brows furrowed in a stubborn fashion, and he knew the words before she said them. "Names haven't done us any good so far. What good would they do now?"

That was a good point, but Dom wasn't one to give up. He filed the question away for later. "Look, your design was outstanding. I haven't seen anything like it since I was being taught by Miles."

She still looked as though the topic was dangerous territory, but she shoved her hands in her jacket pockets and all of a sudden, Dom found himself looking over her careless, just-out-of-bed outfit with admiration. Mal always took her time to get ready (in the end, she always looked like a goddess), but this young student was in the here and now, and didn't want to miss a thing. She was dressed in a slightly big university jacket, and her pajama bottoms were nearly trailing the ground because they were too long for her, but her flip flops completed the odd look, giving her a very relaxed image, and Dom pulled his eyes away, feeling a twinge in his chest. When he was her age, he didn't give a damn about his clothing either, as long as he got things done and lived in reality. _Reality. _But now he couldn't imagine living without dreams.

It took him a few second to realize she was speaking. "… being taught by such a wonderful professor, then," she finished, giving him an odd look.

"Sorry. What?"

"If you're not going to listen, why am I here?" she inquired angrily, halting in her steps. Dom faltered just as quickly and grabbed onto her arm.

"I'm sorry." He was. He'd gotten careless again.

"For what?" The question, at first relating to the lack of attention, now seemed to extend all the way back to him taking her design without her consent.

"Everything." He meant it.

The student sighed, her hands digging further into her jacket pockets. "I want details," she ordered, looking up at him, squinting in the daylight.

He was suddenly acutely aware of the odd looks they were getting as people passed them on the streets of Paris, and he began moving again. The soft steps that started behind him told him that she'd begun to follow.

"What did you mean, your child was at risk?" she demanded as she struggled to keep up with his long, fast strides.

"If you don't understand, you most likely won't later." It was a lie, but he was quickly growing tired of her questions. He was here to gain his inspiration back, to ask _her_ questions. Not the other way around.

"But – "

"Look," he said, twisting around so rapidly that she nearly collided into his chest, and he gripped her shoulders so that he could steady her and look her in her eyes. "I just want to know where you learned to design so beautifully. I honestly haven't seen anything like it since I was your age. You have _no right," _he hissed, and she swallowed, _"to question me of my personal life."_

"You're holding something back," she retorted, her nerve coming back to bite him on his nose. He felt something bubble within his chest but dismissed it.

She was silent for a moment, and he thought she was waiting for him to say something – but then he could feel her tremble beneath his hands that were still grasping her shoulders and he pushed her away. The student took in a breath and asked softly, "Are you afraid of something?"

Afraid? _Afraid? _What was there to be afraid of? Dom had the perfect design for his next job, Mal wouldn't be coming into the extraction and his unborn child would be unharmed. Dom was finally going to be the extractor, and he would be living the life he always wanted – and he would have his dreams, he would be able to build, and build, and build. So what was he supposed to be afraid of?

_You don't know,_ a voice inside him nagged. _You don't know because you haven't experienced it yet. Miles and Arthur are warning you – _

_Shut up,_ Dom thought back viciously, and the voice was silenced. But the young student was looking at him still, standing in front of him in her oversized university jacket, pajama bottoms, and flip flops; patient for an answer, impatient to explore.

She repeated her question, unsure if he had heard her.

He closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, and pulled out a blueprint – hers.

It was being offered to her, and she took it after a second of shock. Dom opened his eyes and watched as she opened it and observed his small markings, his little notes.

"'Dream?'" she read confusedly, regarding his small scrawls over the blueprint. "'Extractions?' 'Point Man?' 'Mark?' 'Level One?' What is this?" She looked back over the sheet of paper and her eyes were wide in bewilderment.

Dom gave her a slight shrug and looked away. "You'll learn later. I did."

"You changed my design… this isn't possible to build," she said matter-of-factly, rotating the design in her hands as though it would make it more logical.

"It is. Just not here."

"Then where?"

A sad smile. "I'm too afraid to tell you."

He left her standing in the Paris daylight as he walked back to the apartment.

* * *

If Ariadne wasn't confused before, she certainly was now. His behavior, so mysteriously cocky and intelligent at the same time, had morphed into one that was shy and untrusting. He had turned into a man fearful of an invisible truth and Ariadne, for the life of her, couldn't understand what it was. It only made her beg more and more for them to leave, but at the same time, she wanted to learn. It was as if he was speaking of a whole other world. She knew that by the changes he'd made to her design that it wouldn't work if they were using logical proportions and statistics. But if it would be able to build somewhere else… well, she was stumped. Where else could it be built where the rules of physics were exactly the same?

She was sick of the sight of that design.

Minutes later, she watched it burn to ashes as she held it over a pan with a candle.

And finally, she sat at her desk with a pen in hand and stacks of paper at her disposal.

She wanted to know what she could build without physics. She decided to start with the ocean.

* * *

**So… I gave you all a chapter filled with Dom and Ariadne. Gosh, was it fun. :P I needed to put something in there with them – and yes, I wasn't about to let them know each other's names. I'm evil =/**

**The next few chapters will consist of the job and… other things. I'm not fast forwarding as soon as I would have liked. :D Cobb wants this to take a while!**

**Love you! You guys are amazing.**

**PS. **

**PLEASE, Inception deserves every single Oscar – and Leonardo DiCaprio deserves at least five Oscars. If he doesn't get them, I'll cry. If he does, I'll cry a thousand times harder, because **_**it is way damn overdue.**_


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: ** Inception. Is. Awesome.

But it doesn't belong to me; instead, it belongs to Mr. Christopher HOLY-CRAP-DOOD-THIS-MAN-IS-A-GENIUS Nolan.

* * *

Arthur was normally a very patient man. Today, as he sat with another team member in Dom's apartment, listening to Dom discuss the next job, he felt oddly fidgety and hyper. He didn't know why, but he wanted the job to be over with. It gave him a bad feeling. It wasn't as if Arthur was fearful for _himself,_ it was most likely the fact that he was watching his best friend descend into something that was unrealistic.

Arthur preferred reality over dreams, mainly because there were challenges. There were things he couldn't have and that made it all the more exciting. Sure, he loved to explore the recesses of people's minds and live a fantasy out in a dream world, but that was all it was – a fantasy, and it would never be real. It unsatisfied him to have something happen… and not have it happen at the same time.

But as the young man watched Dom Cobb run eagerly through the processes of the job with him and a small, feeble chemist, Arthur felt trepidation run through him like wildfire. Arthur had heard of people who started living out their lives in dreams, and whose realities felt like dreams to them. He prayed with all his might that that would _not_ happen to Dom. Or Mal. He loved them both very much – Dom had taken him in and helped him when his parents had died at the tender age of sixteen, and when Dom had met Mal, she cared for Arthur as well. Like an older sister. Arthur felt fear shoot through him for her too, because she was already in further than Dom was.

But Arthur kept a straight, emotionless face as he watched Dom's hands move energetically across the whiteboard. "We meet the mark _here," _he explained, motioning to a grand lobby with a large, magnificent staircase. "He's young and a bit naïve, so we don't have to worry about him being militarized. The hard part's going to be getting him to spill the combination. He's very stubborn until he trusts someone. Arthur?"

"I can do it," Arthur volunteered, shrugging.

"Great. Now, Jacques, you've got the sedative, right?"

The small chemist nodded quickly, picking up a vial of a water-like liquid and nearly dropping it. Arthur sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes, already feeling the stress of the job coming onto him.

"We get on the train with him tomorrow at one," Dom restated for the fifth time. "One. Don't forget. _One."_

"One," Arthur repeated dully, and the chemist beside him gave another fervent nod.

"This should take us no more than ten minutes real time. He's not a hard target."

Once again, the chemist, Jacques, nodded, and Arthur carefully pried the vial of clear liquid from his tight fingers so the chemist wouldn't crush it.

Minutes later, the chemist left and Arthur was standing in Dom's apartment alone with the architect. Mal was gone on to talk with their boss about the mission. "Dom – "

"If you're about to say what I think you're about to say, just don't," said Dom, and Arthur noticed that for the first time, Dom looked weary and hesitant. Seconds ago he'd looked ecstatic – now, his eyes were faded and lifeless. The architect looked up at Arthur and gave a tired smile. "I think you know what my response will be."

"You love Mal."

"Yes."

"But aren't you afraid?" Arthur inquired, a nervous feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. "Aren't scared that something might go wrong?"

For once in his life, Dom looked unsure. Still, his answer was the same as always. "If things could have gone wrong, they would have by now."

"You don't know that."

"I do. I've been in this business longer than you have. I've taught you all you know."

Arthur bit his lip as he slipped into his long overcoat. The cold was starting to seep into the air in this season. "Sure, but who taught you?"

Dom was silent. Arthur decided to answer for him. "Mal, right?"

Still, silence. Arthur knew he was right, and he ventured on, "And who taught Mal?"

"No one. She learned – "

" – by herself, right. She taught herself. But she couldn't possibly have learned everything unless she tried everything. And there's always something new to try."

"You put too much thought into everything, Arthur," said Dom wearily.

"It's what I do."

"You do it well." The life was starting to come back to Dom, and Arthur felt his tense fear start to melt away.

Arthur moved away from the older man and toward the door, grabbing his suitcase on the way out. "Tomorrow at one by the train station. I'll see you there."

Dom only gave a slight nod in response.

* * *

The door to the lecture hall opened with a bang and Professor Miles's head shot up in worry; his eyebrows furrowed as he saw his brightest student stomp down the stairs and to the front of his desk with a stack of papers. What was she doing here? It was a Saturday; even _Miles_ didn't know what he was doing at the university.

"I thought. I thought, I thought, I _thought!"_ she said. "I thought and I made them by thinking. I didn't dream them this time. That's what you wanted, right, _sir? _I made them using intellect this time!"

Bewildered by her behavior, Miles tentatively took one of her designs. His mouth abruptly went slack-jawed; she might have _thought_ her designs, but they were those that completely defied the laws of physics, and he looked back up to meet her ferocious stare, her eyes hard with determination.

And suddenly, an eighteen year old Dom was running down the steps of the lecture hall to the front of his desk, slamming a stack of papers down, and breathing, _"I did it. I did it, I did it, I did it, and without any of your help. Look. And they don't even make sense. But they're gorgeous."_

Miles had looked. They _were_ gorgeous. And they were completely impossible to perceive.

Ariadne slammed another hand on the stack of papers in front of her. "See?" she hissed. "I can think and I come up with these, these things that float on the ocean and that rise to infinity; buildings that survive on small, metal poles that still rise for fifty stories. But where can I build them? _Where?"_

"Ariadne – "

She shook her head. "I'm going crazy," she breathed. "They're still here, and _he's_ not making any sense. They're not going away and they're only making things harder for me. He'd messed up my design to the point where it couldn't be built anymore!"

Miles had been there when Dom was working on fixing the design. There was hardly anything to fix, but the little changes had been significant from altering the design from a realistic one to one that would only be possible to create in dreams.

Still, he took in a deep breath and glanced up at the fuming student. "Ariadne, these designs are beautiful."

"Beautiful?" she parroted, looking aghast. "What do you mean, _beautiful? _These aren't possible to build. How can something be _beautiful_ when it isn't _possible?_ Tell your _son-in-law – "_

"They're not married yet."

" – that he should _stop living fantasies_ and _get back down to Earth!"_ She continued on as though she didn't even hear him interrupt. Miles licked his lips and turned his eyes to his desk, frowning. He could hear his student fidget in front of him and wait for a response, but Miles had nothing.

"Sir." The word was abrupt and Miles's eyes locked onto hers. "Why did he need my design?"

"For his job," said Miles resignedly. "He's doing a job."

"What kind of job?"

"I can't tell you."

Ariadne's eyes flashed and she hissed, "Is it illegal?"

"I – "

"It _is_ illegal!"She looked horrified. "I can't believe you gave my design to a man doing an illegal job!" Giving him a simmering look of rage, she hoisted her sac over her shoulder and began to stalk out of the room.

"Ariadne!"

She halted and looked over her shoulder.

"You'll forget about this after it's all over." Miles hoped he was right. "You don't even need to worry about it anymore. They'll be gone in less than a week."

"I sure as fucking well hope so," she shot back, and Miles was too caught up in the slight change in her furious expression to one of despair and hopelessness to reprimand her on her language.

* * *

"Where the hell is Jacques?" Dom demanded, standing next to his fiancée and Arthur with a suitcase in hand, staring down at his watch. "God dammit! I said one. The train's about to leave!"

"You really don't need him," said Mal. "You know you don't, you already have his sedative, _chérie." _

But a small figure was hurriedly pushing through the crowd in the train station, and the chemist caught up to them in a matter of seconds, panting heavily. "Sorry," he said in a small voice. "My mom – "

"No one gives a crap," Arthur retorted, climbing onto the train. "You're sixteen, you should have _some_ freedom."

"_C'est d'accord," _Mal said in a consoling voice. _"Les mamans sont très protectifs, je sais."_

"_Merci, madame – "_

"Mal!" said Dom, knowing enough French to understand that she was helping him. "We're on a job and we can't be hindered by protective mothers."

"You are assuming I will be a protective mother?" Mal questioned, pursing her lips as she stepped onto the train. The four of them walked through the small hallway, Dom searching carefully for the compartment with the mark.

"You'll be a perfect mother, Mal, you shouldn't even worry. Now," said Dom, looking back to the chemist who tailed them timidly. "Jacques, you're going to be the dreamer for this level. This really shouldn't be that hard of a job. One level's enough, so we'll be able to extract the information easily."

Dom received a nod in response and gave a smile to both him and Mal, who looked very pleased with the compliment she had received.

"Found one," called Arthur, who was ahead of them by a few steps. He slid the compartment door open. "Sorry, sir, all the others are full. Can we – ?" Dom, Mal, and the chemist moved toward the point man and heard a voice say, "Of course. Yes, come in."

They carefully packed into the compartment and the mark's eyes widened slightly at the amount of people entering. The mark looked very young with carefree blond hair framing his face and bright blue eyes, nursing a laptop on his knees and one earphone in his right ear.

"So, uh," began the mark, pulling the other earphone out of his ear and watching them curiously. "You all going to Lyon?"

"Family vacation," said Mal, looking lovingly at Dom, who smiled back and rested a hand on her own, threading their fingers together. As much as that sounded nice, they were here on a job. The second they got off, they would be heading back for Paris.

The mark's eyebrows rose dangerously. "You _all_ are family?"

Arthur gave a weak grin. "Yeah – I'm her brother… this is my son." He motioned to the chemist who sat beside him.

"You look a little young to be a dad. No offense," the mark added cautiously.

"I get that all the time. And my sister's older. Our family's got a very good gene for age."

Mal lifted her and Dom's hands. "And this is my husband."

The mark's eyes flitted to her belly for a split second before looking back up. "Congrats," he said, shrugging. "You know, on the…." He gestured to the baby bump, and then abruptly looked anxious, as though she would suddenly announce that she wasn't pregnant and that she was… overweight.

"Oh, thank you," Mal exclaimed, looking radiant. "Three months."

The mark relaxed noticeably.

Dom shot Arthur a slight nod and Arthur quickly pulled out his suitcase. Jacques took his bag and pulled out a couple of water bottles – one was carefully distinguishable from the others by having a natural counter-clockwise screw cap, where the others would have to be unscrewed clockwise. The chemist had resealed the water bottle carefully after adding the sedative.

The mark eyed the bottles enviously and licked his lips, looking thirsty. Dom held back a smirk with difficulty; Jacques noticed the mark's actions and said innocently, "I have an extra bottle. Would you like it?"

"That – uh, that would be awesome," said the mark.

The chemist handed the extra bottle silently and drank their untouched ones as the mark opened his sedated one and gulped it down greedily.

Minutes later, the mark was fast asleep, his laptop sitting on his legs. "Don't move it," said Dom as Jacques moved to take the laptop. "When he wakes, we want that in front of him."

"You guys ready?" said Arthur, looking up under raised eyebrows.

"As ready as we'll ever be," Dom answered, giving a confident smile at Arthur and Mal. "Mal… make sure nothing happens. We're going in Jacques's dream."

Mal's lips twitched, but she nodded in agreement. _"D'accord, chérie."

* * *

_

"This place is more gorgeous in the dream than out," breathed Dom, regarding the palace's deep mahogany walls and the high ceilings. "If I had the time, I would have built something like this."

"Let's focus on getting the job done, Dom. No distractions," Arthur injected, stalking past him and through the large mass of people, who occupied the hall with glasses of wine and plates of intricate desserts and pastries. Dom tailed after him and soon, they found themselves staring up at the high chandelier in the foyer of the castle.

"Arthur!" exclaimed a young voice, and soon their chemist was running toward them. Several others looked at him disapprovingly and Dom gave the chemist a look; Jacque stopped running.

Arthur looked around and spotted a projection that seemed a bit lost. "Excuse me. Do you need some help?"

"What's he doing?" the chemist inquired Dom in a hushed whisper.

"Sometimes, talking to the mark's projections influences the mark themselves. Arthur's helping a lost projection, who will trust him to give the right way through the castle. This will unconsciously make the mark more trusting," Dom explained, not bothering to keep his voice low. He took some of his free time to admire the college student's work, who was most likely in her apartment this Sunday afternoon, sketching out more breath-taking, dream like designs – and he felt a pang. He'd taken something from her, something precious, and he had no right to do that – but he couldn't keep himself solemn over this fact for long. Arthur came back looking pleased as the lost projection hurriedly ran off to follow the directions Arthur had given her.

"Easy?"

"Like taking candy from a baby." It was an inside joke for them. Dom could remember a very good (possibly the best) forger he'd ever worked with, Eames, describe over the phone a time when a three year old Arthur had had his lollipop snatched from his hands by an eight year old Eames. Eames's parents had been best friends with Arthur's, and had almost adopted him when Arthur's parents had died – but Dom had taken the initiative.

"Let's get going," said Dom, giving the foyer another quick look, wanting to feel the quick thrill of seeing a design that was as close to his as possible. How a student could be so smart, he couldn't begin to comprehend.

* * *

She had been granted a break.

She would be allowed to go to Lyon to visit her aunt, who was dreadfully sick, but also she'd been given a break due to her immense work and her outstanding grades. She needed it, and Miles hadn't asked her why after she had asked permission. She wouldn't have to go back to class until Wednesday, and that was plenty of time to get her act together.

Now, she was sitting in an empty compartment as the train sped down the tracks toward Lyon. She had a while to go, but she loved trains and their solitude. Mostly their solitude. She would be able to think and get her mind away from things back in Paris.

Minutes later, her stomach growled insistently and she sighed, rising. Ariadne hadn't had lunch, and only a small slice of toast and jam for breakfast. Opening the door, she walked silently from her compartment, peeking into others to attempt to find the small snack one.

One compartment. _Not that one._

Another. _Five giggling French women._

One more. _A couple. _

Last one on this cart. _Five sleeping people. They must have been tired –_

Wait.

Ariadne's eyes widened and she swallowed as her eyes ran from one figure to the next; a young man with blond hair falling over his closed eyes, another young man who weakly supported a small vial of a clear liquid from falling off of the seat, a slightly older man with jet black hair slicked back neatly over his head and dressed in a pristine suit, a woman with a visible baby bump, and a man with dirty blond hair gelled back from his shut eyes. And in all but the woman's wrists were… needles? IVs? What were they?

Ariadne could hardly believe her terrible luck, but she couldn't turn away. Why were they all plugged into a strange machine? How – _how_ _could they just sleep so peacefully? _They didn't move at _all!_

But the woman's eyes – Mal's – snapped open to the compartment door.

* * *

**DUN DUN DUN**

… **I really don't have anything else to say. D:**

**I got Dom's top today as a really late Christmas present. And it is SO awesome. It spins for **_**such a long time – **_**seriously the best thing ever!**

**Love you! **

**(Cobb loves you too!)**

**PS.**

**Okay so I mean I know The Social Network is a good movie... but really? Taking Best Soundtrack too? How do you deny Hans Zimmer? _Really?_**

**And now I feel terrible for Nolan. He got nothing :(**

**Oscars had better make up for all of this...  
**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: ** Puhlease. As if I would be smart enough and have enough patience to work on a script that was so awesomely written for eight years. No, the only person able to do that is Christopher Nolan. And just look at Inception now!

**Notes: **So many of you asked about the top! I don't know where it came from; a good friend got it for me for Christmas. I only know that it was shipped from Singapore… O_O

* * *

There was a thump in her chest. She'd ducked, and was now debating how to run as quickly and silently as possible back to her compartment, possibly jump out of the train, live, and set up camp somewhere on the side of the track.

And _their _compartment door opened. On impulse, Ariadne moved to the next one, the one with the couple, and shot in, closing the door as silently as possible and pulled the blind of the compartment door.

Steps in the hallway.

"_Excusez-moi?" _the French woman of the couple demanded haughtily. Ariadne shot her a desperate glance and motioned for them to 'carry on.'

"_Mon dieu, les enfants ces jours – très irrespectueux," _said the man, looking disgusted.

"_S'il vous __plaît," _Ariadne whispered, glancing over once more. _"Ne parlez pas, je suis – "_

The door opened.

Mal peered in, looking content and completely peaceful, spotting Ariadne sitting across from the French couple. "Sweetie, you haven't been answering your phone… I have an extra battery, but it's in my compartment. Let's go back and get it and leave these two to their own, _d'accord, chérie?"_

Ariadne cursed her acting skills and looked back pleadingly at the couple, who gave her grimaces instead of looks of reassurance. Then there was a hand grasping her arm, burning, and Mal pulled Ariadne out of the compartment and into the train hall. The door shut closed.

Mal smiled. "Miss Bishop. What are you doing on this train?"

Ariadne swallowed painfully and tried to look the woman in the eyes, which was saying something, because Ariadne decided at that second that looking into Mal's eyes were like looking into that place called limbo, which was the area between life and death – she'd read that one in a Roman Catholic Theology book for a project in high school. Ariadne pressed her lips together and tried her hardest not to answer.

"What are you doing on this train?" It was harsher this time.

"What are _you _doing in a room, all awake, with the other four people having needles plugged into their wrists?" Ariadne retorted, spitting at her feet. "You drugging them? Is that it?"

Mal was silent before a smirk graced her lips. "You naïve little girl. You have no knowledge of the world yet."

"You have too much. It's going to be the death of you, I bet."

"I have too much?" Mal's eyes turned stony and cold. "Oh, _ma petite, _I have too much? No one can ever have too much knowledge. You've heard of the saying 'Knowledge is Power,' _oui?"_

"Hell no." Now Ariadne was releasing pent up tension. She didn't give a damn that Mal was pregnant. Not one bit.

"You're lying."

Ariadne remained silent, glowering at the older woman.

"Knowledge _is_ power, in a way," said Mal abruptly, boring her eyes into Ariadne's. "With knowledge you can build things without actually building them. Create cities. Create lives. But you don't know that. The more you have, the more you can create."

"And the more you can destroy," Ariadne countered promptly. "All that creation will kill you. You need to have balance in there or else you'll lose yourself."

"You'll eat your words, _ma petite."_

"You'll eat yours sooner."

She had absolutely no idea where her impudent and rash behavior was coming from. As far as Ariadne was concerned, she had no idea what Mal was talking about. You couldn't build without actually building, that was ridiculous.

But a want seeded itself within her. Building without _building._ Ariadne suddenly found herself wishing for a place where that was possible.

Mal gave a tight lipped smile and breathed, "You should go back to your compartment, little girl."

It sounded like a great idea. "No." _Ariadne, what the hell are you doing?_ "I want to know that those people in your compartment are going to be okay."

"Well, in two minutes, _ma petite fille,_ you'll find out, _oui?"

* * *

_

"Well, that wasn't hard." Dom watched in amusement as the mark moved down the massive golden staircase to meet them at the front. Arthur smirked as he held up a bottle of champagne.

"Mr. Darling, you said your name was?" inquired one of the massive guards at the mark's side. Arthur twitched slightly at the name but nodded. It had been his code name for a while. Arthur Darling.

"This is my accomplice, Mr. Charles, and this is my nephew, Jack," Arthur replied, patting Jacques on his shoulder lightly. The mark's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but Arthur added, "My brother passed away a while ago due to throat cancer. He was quite older than me, I'm afraid."

"Your business here is…"

"We're here on behalf of Mr. Cross's – " Arthur motioned to the mark, " – late father. We're so sorry for your loss. Mr. Cross, you may not know me, but Mr. Charles and I were good partners with your father. He was very secretive about his relationships, however, a fault that stayed with him until his passing, I'm afraid…" Arthur knew he'd done his research well when the mark's eyes abruptly changed from suspicion and confusion to a quiet despair.

"Thank you," said the mark in a meek voice.

Dom blinked. That had been far too easy – they would be out of here in no time. And he knew it wasn't a trick because he'd seen that look in a teenage boy's eyes before – Arthur's, when Dom had offered to take him under his wing.

Arthur made a slight hand motion that would normally be regarded as just a slight twitch, but to Dom, it meant 'talk.' "We extend our condolences," said Dom, moving forward and flashing a calm and barely wistful smile. "We're here in case Mr. Cross needs anything. We also just want one thing. Mr. Cross's father's will has been locked away in his office, and he told us before his passing that Mr. Cross knew the combination to the safe. Mr. Cross, what is that number?"

The mark's expression turned hesitant. "I'm not sure if – "

"Believe me, son, your father trusted us completely. If the companies we ran weren't under so much pressure, he would have liked you to be friends with Jack." Jacques gave a friendly, practiced wave to the mark.

"Still… the authorities would probably like to have it first," said the mark weakly, giving a small smile to Jacques, apparently still mourning over the fresh loss of his father.

Dom laughed and pulled out his wallet, flipping it open and flashing it to the mark. "Your father picks his friends well, Alex. I'm the head of the security here."

"So, Mr. Cross, there really is nothing to worry about. The will is in safe hands." Arthur shot a caring smile to Alex Cross, and the young mark relaxed visibly.

"Okay," said the mark a little more confidently, abruptly twisting in his spot and marching back up the staircase, maneuvering through crowds of laughing people. "Sure. At least this way I can make sure my father's reputation doesn't go down the drain."

Dom felt a twinge of guilt, keeping his chin up with difficulty. That would be exactly what they would be doing when they gave the information back to their boss.

Soon, they were in a room with windows all around. Exquisite. That young woman had outdone herself. He felt inclined to just stand and admire the beauty of the office, but the mark moved toward a painting and pulled it from the wall, punching a number in.

"My father was my best friend," he said as he typed in the combination. _0. 4. 2. 7. 8. 9._

"He was a best friend to many, but he always talked about you," said Arthur, his voice cracking slightly. Dom silently begged him to keep it together. Arthur's father had been Arthur's best friend, but now wasn't the time to think about it, and it was times like these when Dom wished he had a Forger in his group to do these more easily. Time hadn't allowed it, though.

That sentence was the ice breaker, and the mark's eyes welled with tears as he chokingly pulled out a packet from the safe and handed it over to Dom, who held out his hand trustingly. "He – he – he – "

Dom nodded to Jacques, who gave a roll of his eyes and went to comfort the mark. "My _papa_ died as well, he was my best friend too…"

Ripping the packet open, he read the necessary information. Got it. Nothing was hidden. It wouldn't be, not in the mind of a young man who was a virgin to extraction.

A peek at his watch. Thirty more seconds and he, Arthur, and Jacques would wake.

"It's okay," breathed Jacques.

Dom glanced once at Arthur and nearly did a double take. Arthur's eyes were glassy and he had turned away from the two of them, taking the packet from Dom and trying his best to keep the mark from seeing him.

"Stop. Stop it," Dom hissed, trying to catch the point man's tear-filled eyes. "Arthur, _stop it."_

"I c-can't," he breathed back.

"Arthur?"

Dom hadn't heard that voice for years. It couldn't be. Not Arthur's –

"Dad?" Arthur whispered, looking over Dom's shoulder and tears treading down his cheeks in rivers.

"Who is he?" the mark demanded, his own tears now dried on his skin.

No. How was he _here? _For the life of him, Dom couldn't understand. He and Mal had never dealt with dead people coming back into dreams. Was this Arthur's subconscious? How had it come? _How?_

"This isn't right, son," said Arthur's father lovingly. "Please, I thought you could do better than this."

"Please, please, Dad, please," breathed Arthur, moving away. "What are you doing here?"

"Shit!" Dom said, looking back to his watch. Seven more seconds.

The mark shot up, launching toward Dom like a bullet. "GIVE IT BACK TO ME, YOU SON OF A – "

_Five. _Dom cursed and dodged out of the way, latching onto Jacques's arm with one hand and pulling Arthur with the other.

_Four. _"YOU LIAR! YOU LIAR, WHERE THE HELL ARE WE! WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO TO MY FATHER!"

_Three._ "Arthur, we protected you and we didn't want you getting in this – but your guardian dragged you in…"

_Two._ "MAXWELL! MARQUISSE! GET HIM, HE HAS MY FATHER'S WILL – "

_One._ "Arthur – please stop this lie – "

The sedative wore off. The mark had a minute or two in the first level's dream time, or whenever he would be killed by the dream collapsing, and Dom ripped the IV from his wrist and said, "Mal, we need to leave. A different compartment. Now – "

Where was she?

Panic like no other rushed through him. He'd kept her out to keep her safe. Arthur broke through his thoughts and his eyes were unfocused as he pulled the lead from his wrist and from Jacques. Dom turned quickly to the chemist. "We need to go. Now." Dom's hands expertly took the lead from the mark's wrist and packed up the PASIV device, shutting the suitcase. "Arthur. Let's go."

Arthur got up numbly, trailing the chemist and Dom out of the compartment. "You made sure he wouldn't be able to remember the dream or us right before it, right?" Dom inquired out of the young chemist, and Jacques nodded, looking slightly fearful. Things shouldn't have gone wrong, but they had, and now they had to be extra careful. If nothing would go wrong anymore, they would be fine and Jacques's sedative would fix the rest, but Dom wasn't finished with Arthur.

But just down the hall was Dom's fiancée and… and… the young student from the university.

"Mal!"

"Well, looks like you spent all your time interrogating me, _ma petite, _and so we never got to enter the compartment. But as you can see," Mal was saying, looking over her shoulder, "they are all awake and doing just fine."

"Not fine," said Dom shortly, passing them and looking for empty compartments. "Things went wrong near the end. We need an empty compartment." He glanced back and saw Mal give the student a look.

"No, you can't," said the student, glowering at them, but bewilderment flashed through her eyes.

"Look," said Dom harshly, moving back. "My friend here is having a bit of a meltdown and we need to get him somewhere where he won't have a stroke and possibly hurt his head." The student's eyes flickered to Arthur, who looked worse each passing second.

Finally, the student whispered, "Second from the end."

Mal moved past the student and took Arthur by his hand, leading him down to the compartment. Jacques tailed them quietly. Dom watched them move before he turned back to the student.

"Thank you," he said softly.

She gave him a fierce glare. "Don't thank me. I wish you'd hate me. I wish you'd hate me so you'd stop bothering me."

Dom opened his mouth, but a sound from a couple of compartments behind them caused him to abandon his words and move down to the compartment where Mal, Arthur, and Jacques had gone to. The student followed his steps quickly and soon, Dom found himself shutting the door after she sat down beside the young chemist by the window. Dom pulled the compartment door blind down, locked the door, and moved to Arthur.

"What happened?" he said, the memory of the nearly disastrous dream coming back to him.

Arthur mumbled incoherently, swallowing. Finally, he seemed to gather a bit of himself and Arthur replied shakily, "D-don't know…"

"You can't just _not know,"_ said Dom, kneeling in front of him. "Look. I don't know what the hell happened. Mal and I _never _had a problem like that. What happened?"

"I said I _don't know,_" Arthur replied a little more firmly, but his eyes were wet and his pupils were dilated from anticipation. "Please – I don't know, I don't know, I'm sorry – "

"Darling, you should have some time to gather yourself," said Mal, patting Arthur's shoulder. "It gets hard seeing someone deal with something that you once had to deal with, _chérie, _so I'd say… _peut-être…_a year to try and get over the sorrow?"

"I won't be able to help you on j-jobs," Arthur choked out hoarsely.

"But we won't be doing any. Not until our little _bébé _is born."

Arthur gave a slight nod and stared out of the train's window with unfocused eyes. Dom silently thanked Mal for her quick thinking, and even more for the young student who remained quiet despite the happenings he knew she didn't understand.

He found the young student watching his point man with curiosity and felt a pang in his chest. _Don't look at him like that._

Minutes later, Arthur was fast asleep with his head on the window of the train, and Dom knew that when he woke up, the memory of the whole ordeal would be behind him. Arthur always slept off his problems and awoke fresh. He would face them when he woke up.

He could also see in the student's eyes that she was planning to escape as quickly as possible from the train the second they arrived in Lyon.

Well, they still had another two hours.

* * *

**That was fast, huh?**

**I was inspired. I don't know how, but I just was. I think I'll draw some fanart too… hahaha, I love drawing :D**

**And yes, I'm trying to show a little bit of how Dom learns about the subconscious's projections of the dead and Arthur's past. Don't hurt me for hurting Arthur! I love him too and he'll get better! :D **

**PS: If any of you want to know what the French actually says... the french woman, of course, says, "Excuse me?" and the man says, "God, children these days - so disrespectful." Ariadne responds with, "Please, don't talk, I'm - " And Mal comes in! Woo!**

**Love you!**

**(Time to draw!)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **So uh… I don't know how long I'll have to keep saying that Inception isn't mine… I mean, come _on,_ Christopher Nolan totally owns it and made it himself. It'd be stupid to assume it was me!

* * *

The young man across from her with his head on the window was fast asleep. There were dried tears on his cheeks, and Ariadne felt her stomach clench with sadness. Whatever the job was that the couple – Mal and Dom – were doing, it wasn't affecting the young man well. The teenager beside her pulled out a laptop and began typing away while Dom discussed something about what had happened in the compartment with his fiancée.

"And he lost it," said Dom, his fists clenching and unclenching. "He started sobbing and Cross immediately became suspicious. You know how Arthur is. He's unbreakable. Nothing gets to him."

"He hasn't faced his sadness of his _papa,_ Dom," Mal told him, smiling gently. Ariadne pretended to be immersed with the passing scenery through the window. "His parents died when he was sixteen. You immediately came and took him in, _chérie._ He didn't have time to mourn and remember after you met me, and we came to these jobs."

"So he faces them _now?"_ Dom shook his head. "It doesn't make sense. Why would Arthur's dad just appear in the middle of the job?"

Ariadne sighed inwardly. They kept talking about a _job_ but as far as Ariadne could remember, they were all asleep in that compartment. Even the young man, Arthur, looked peaceful as he slept.

Slept. And Dom's words came back to her. _Dreams, dreams, dreams, the wonder of dreams._

Could all have this just possibly been a –

"Well, _peut-__être__,_ perhaps feeling that mournful subconsciously can affect the projections in the dream."

Dream!

Ariadne felt as though she were choking. Flashes of the past few days ran through her head, the walk through Paris where Dom had handed her a blueprint that had changed her design from a realistic to a completely unperceivable design, and Ariadne bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from shouting out. More memories flew through her mind as she saw the ocean, miles and miles of endless ocean, and then her professor's sadness and unwillingness to discuss her designs with her, the ones she dreamed. _He'd _been against it. Was it because his daughter, Mal, and her fiancé, Dom, were so sucked in that it was ruining them? That's what it seemed like.

It all made sense now. Despite the fact that it all took place in the mind and she had no proof, it was the only _possible_ explanation she could think of. The compartment where they'd all been 'sleeping' appeared in her head again and she knew it was the only close answer she had as to what they were doing.

She also knew that she wasn't so sure she wanted to forget her experiences over the past few days with them anymore. She wasn't sure if she wanted to lose the memories of her walk with the older architect – if she could call him that – or the memories of her blueprints, and she felt regretful at burning her design. An abrupt feeling rose within her. Before they moved, could she possibly make another design and give it to him so he would fix it to resemble something out of a dream – ?

Her thoughts on his fiancée weren't as kind, however, and she felt a sort of sadness and pity wash over her. Ariadne could tell by Mal's actions that she was more desperately involved with the idea of dreams and that she was much more taken with them than Dom. Watching the pregnant woman from the corner of her eye, she could see Mal slightly detached from the rest of the world. Maybe it was just Ariadne, but as she thought about it, she realized Mal was like this all the time since she'd met her, always slightly distant and quite possibly, somewhat haughty. Like she had knowledge of something else. Ariadne was certain that if the woman didn't know about the world of dreams, Mal would be a lovely woman, but the fact that she did rung oddly with Ariadne and she was suddenly wishing and praying that the woman would realize that reality was a far better truth than dreams.

Suddenly, Ariadne's eyes caught onto Dom's and he gave a slight smile, jolting his head to the side in a quick motion as if to say, _Outside._

Ariadne rose and with a quick murmur, left the compartment. She moved down the hall of the train, as if searching for a lavatory, and moved down to the end of the cart, opening the door and leaning out onto the railing, watching the tracks roll out under the train. Minutes later, there was a noise behind her and a voice. "I know that look." It was him, of course.

"Look?"

"Yeah. You figured it out, didn't you?" Ariadne finally turned to face him and saw his ocean eyes facing the tracks, and he leaned beside her against the railing as well. Feeling a tightness in her chest, she shifted her attention to the tracks again.

"Now you get it, right?" His voice was soft and calming. Her fear of him, and whatever anger had been there for the last hour, vanished on the spot. "You get why I wanted your blueprint? You know why I wanted your work, right?"

Ariadne pursed her lips and shot him a glance. "If you're an architect, why can't you build what you need? You fixed my design up – "

"I needed more time if I wanted to build it, and my boss didn't give it to me." He turned his sea colored eyes to her, catching her gaze. "You're talented. Extremely so. I was… stupid… to not notice that in the beginning."

For a second, she was only aware of how his eyes had turned from impressed to hesitant to complete regret. "I was stupid for a lot of things. I said things couldn't go wrong anymore, but they did. And I can't help myself. I'm wondering about things I shouldn't be wondering about."

Ariadne was intrigued, but she could tell he wasn't going to discuss it with her. She leaned back against the railing, blankly watching the tracks fly by. Beside her, Dom did the same thing, and they stood in silence for a couple minutes before he murmured, "You never did tell me your name."

She turned her head to him and locked her eyes with his, unsure. She knew she would most likely never see him again. The thought choked her and her vision became blurry. "A – " she began, feeling her throat close. "A – Ar – "

_Don't you dare cry, Ariadne. Don't you dare –_

His eyes widened at her glassy expression and soon she found herself against his chest. _No. No. Ariadne, get away. You don't even know his last name, for goodness sake, and he's engaged. What sort of woman are you? Just because he showed you to a new world – not even! You don't even have proof – for all you know, he could be speaking nonsense and you're just delusional – _

Ariadne knew that wasn't true, and she clutched his shirt weakly as she tried to stop herself from letting the tears fall. The thoughts entered again, but for entirely different reasons: _I wish you would leave so I wouldn't feel this way. I wish I would forget about you so I wouldn't feel so alone. I wish you would leave so I could forget about you! _

More minutes passed and she pulled away. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"I'm not." His response stunned her; how could he _not_ be sorry? Her confusion slowly seeped back into her, the confusion from before she _understood,_ and she didn't want to feel that way. "What do you mean?" she inquired, frowning up at him.

"Well – " He gave her a slight smile, and she was encapsulated by his eyes again. " – I don't think I could have been more impressed, and if you ever need a shoulder, I'm here."

Ariadne knew the last part was a lie. It was an offer, but it was a lie. She gave a slight nod just as the door to the back of the cart opened. "Dom?"

Dom turned and smiled at his fiancée, moving toward her and pressing a kiss to her lips. Ariadne looked away, her stomach clenching uncomfortably, and she excused herself back to her compartment.

She was back where she was earlier, across the young man with his head on the window, fast asleep, rocking with the movement of the train. The teenager beside her was busy on his laptop with earphones deep into his ears and blaring out a loud, French tune. It wasn't until a half hour later when Dom and Mal reappeared, making loving faces at each other, and Ariadne felt sick.

* * *

Ariadne stepped off of the train with an unimaginably strong sense of relief. They hadn't even picked their bags up and she was gone.

Who cared about dreams? Ariadne didn't. She hadn't experienced them so why should she bother? She made a deal with herself. _Keep to reality. You won't be so hurt and distressed next time._

Marching through the crowd and trying to (as pleasantly as she possibly could) squeeze in between the lines to the entrance of the train station, she caught sight of the couple, the teenager, and the young man, Arthur, who had woken just as she was leaving the compartment, search for a train back to Paris. Dom looked around, nearly saw her, and her heart broke at his ocean eyes; she pressed forward, suddenly eager to leave this station as soon as possible.

All the while as she was walking, trying to find a cab that would suffice for her ride to her aunt's, she had the vague feeling that something wasn't right. She knew, deep down, she wanted to be a part of dreams, too, and she cared about them, perhaps more than she thought. She built her world in dreams and she wrote them down on paper in real life. It felt like she was trying to convince herself, and Ariadne didn't like it. She found herself wishing again that maybe, just maybe, if somehow she could just forget, her life would be normal again. Just architecture with the professor at the university. Just normal measurements, looking at the normal architectural designs, like the Corinthian and Ionic columns from Ancient Greece, and she missed her old life.

_I want to go back._ She knew she wasn't going to see him again, so why bother? She'd focus completely on real life. She'd be satisfied with real life.

And yet, she still had the vague feeling that something wasn't right. Her head was starting to spin. She was probably thinking too much... if she cleared her head, she'd be fine.

"FUCK!" Someone screamed – an American, probably visiting –

Her head was blank. What was she thinking about again? She felt numb. Why was she so numb? And she wished the American would stop screaming. She opened her mouth to tell them that, but for some reason she couldn't. If she tried, she probably could, but... she just felt so _tired._ She had the slightest sensation that she'd been crushed. Was she crushed? She couldn't tell. Was that why she couldn't breathe? And there was an odd taste in her mouth. It was coppery and foreign. She felt something warm and sticky on her hand. Her head felt constricted. Her whole body felt constricted.

And why was she seeing spots? She didn't understand.

"FUCK," the voice screamed again, and a young man with blond hair appeared over her – or perhaps two or three men, she really couldn't tell – and they were yelling things she couldn't hear anymore. Why wouldn't they speak? Their mouths were moving. What were they saying? It was about a car, that much she could tell.

And their faces were blurring. She wished she had some glasses to see them better. She wanted to see their eyes, perhaps… perhaps they'd be a nice color, like the ocean… she had the oddest feeling, like she'd been thinking about something. Well, if she was, she couldn't remember. She'd take a nap… perhaps she'd gather her thoughts when she woke up again…

Yes. A nap sounded just right. She'd nap for now. Maybe she'd see the ocean, too...

Her eyes slipped closed.

All she could hear was silence.

* * *

Alex Cross was in a full-fledged panic. He'd never felt so desperate before in his life, except when his father had died, and that had been terrible. But Alex hadn't _killed_ his father, and this young woman – perhaps teenager – in front of him certainly looked close to dying.

Of course he hadn't been _driving,_ his mother's butler had picked him up from the station. But Cross felt just as terrible, because he'd told his butler to speed just a little more – he wanted to get home fast and escape the terrible pain of losing his father – and then _she_ showed up right in front of the car, and the next thing Cross knew, there was a _thump _and she fell, in slow motion, toward the ground. It could be called graceful, even, as if she hadn't even known it had happened.

He'd jumped out of the car. Her arm was at an odd angle and there was blood seeping from it. Her mouth. Her head. But her eyes were open, staring blankly above her, and her mouth attempted to take in air she couldn't breathe.

He screamed. He screamed and screamed and screamed until it didn't even feel like he was screaming anymore, only that his throat was aching terribly and that she looked as though the entire world had frozen. The one word for her was dazed. Dazed, and completely stuck that way.

He moved above her. She tried to focus on him, he could tell she was. He screamed again, trying to get her to stay awake – who knew such horrible things could happen in Lyon? – And she connected with his eyes, squinting, and then a slight smile on her lips as she mouthed the word _ocean._ Then her eyes closed.

Just like that. They slipped shut. Just as gracefully as when she'd been hit.

The ambulance got there minutes later. He insisted to come along, but he was refused, and he wondered if he'd ever know whether or not she would live.

"I want to know what will happen to her," he choked out to one of them, and they gave him a pitying look, nearly sad, and before he could blink they were gone. The police questioned him. The blood was cleaned. His car was repaired. He would appear in court later, but he'd accept anything that came his way. He deserved it, he knew he did.

* * *

Dom Cobb had been waiting to board the next train back to Paris when the oddest sensation flitted through his stomach. A newsflash appeared on the local news network, and he looked up to still the feeling, which made him feel nauseated and uncomfortable.

"_Une __jeune femme __a été __heurté par une voiture __quelques rues __à __partir de __la __gare locale__. __Elle __est __dans un état __critique__, __et nous __aurons __plus de __nouvelles __sur __elle dans __les prochaines minutes__," _the newscaster reported dully. "_Les policiers ont dit que le chauffeur était un homme du nom d'__Alex __Cross__, __le __fils du célèbre __Francis __Cross__, __qui __était mort __il ya quelques semaines__."_

"Oh, how terrible," said Mal beside him, looking at the television set sadly. "A _petite fille_ was hit by a car! By the man Alex Cross! She's in critical condition… _quelle horreur…"_

Dom was about to ask the name of the young lady when the train for Paris was announced for boarding, and the four of them, him, Mal, Arthur, and the chemist, Jacques, stood up to get on.

Minutes later, their bench was empty. The train to Paris left the station, and all was silent for a second as the news report came back on.

"_Le nom de la jeune femme est confirm__ée. Ariadne Bishop est une jeune étudiante à l'une des meilleures universités à Paris, maintenant dans un état critique après avoir été renversé par une voiture…"_

* * *

**Translations: **

**1st News Report: "A young lady was run over by a car a few blocks down from the local train station. She is in critical condition, and we will have more information on her in the next few minutes. The police said that the driver was a young man by the name of Alex Cross, the son of famous Francis Cross, who died a few weeks ago."**

**2nd News Report: "The name of the young lady is confirmed. Ariadne Bishop is a young student at one of the best universities in Paris, now in critical condition after being run over by a car…"**

**I am so cruel :/**

**But this part was necessary if I wanted the story to work out, and if you can guess why, you get a cookie.**

**And if you didn't see it coming, or if you didn't understand what was happening at first, then good. **

**That was my plan :D Love you all!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: **Inception and the characters don't belong to me. No. They're the brainchildren of Christopher Nolan _and only Christopher Nolan._

**Notes: **Psh. You all deserve cookies. You still get one if you got even a part of it right! :D *hands out cookies*

* * *

"_Hello. Professor Miles, am I correct?"_

"Yes, this is he," Miles replied, his eyebrows furrowing.

"_This is Centre Hospitalier Saint Joseph Saint Luc, located in Lyon. One of your students, a Miss Ariadne Bishop, has been hospitalized after being hit by a car an hour after her arrival in Lyon."_

Stunned and horrified, Miles took in a deep breath and asked, "Is she awake?"

"_She's been going on and off. We've been able to receive responses from her but the loss of blood is keeping her from completely returning to us. However, we're predicting she'll wake up later today and make a full recovery."_

Miles breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you for letting me know."

"_We attempted to contact her parents, but there was no response… do you know any others who could be counted on, other than you?"_

Unfortunately, Miles didn't. An image of his future son-in-law entered his mind, but Miles dismissed the thought quickly. "No. I'm afraid I'm the only one."

"_She will be transferred to the Assistance Publique-H__ô__pitaux de Paris a few hours after she wakes so you will be able to visit her."_

"Thank you."

* * *

He'd been sitting beside the phone for hours on end, waiting for it to ring and be someone _other_ than family friends, who called to give them his sympathies. He was sick of their pity. _Please. Ring. Ring…_

Cross ran a hand over his face for the seventh time in ten minutes, feeling fatigued by his immense guilt and distress. The news had been covering him unrelentingly and he couldn't seem to escape the reporters. He couldn't help wondering if things could ever be worse – which it probably could – and found himself pleading inwardly for the young lady to be okay.

At precisely eight sixteen in the evening, his phone rung for what seemed to be the millionth time, and he answered it, praying.

"_Hello. Alexander Cross, am I correct?"_

Cross's heart thumped. "Yes, this is he."

"_We called to give you the condition of the young lady you ran over today near the train station, since you wanted to know…"_

"Please," he found himself begging. "Tell me she's alright. Please."

"_She's awake, Mr. Cross. There is nothing to be worried about."_

* * *

She didn't _feel _awake. Sure, she could see, and she could hear. She knew she was in a hospital and she knew her arm was wasting away in a cast, and her fractured and broken ribs were delicately healing, needing the support of a few pounds of bandages and cloths around her torso. But she felt like she was watching through somebody else's eyes, like she was disconnected from society for some reason, and she didn't like the feeling.

The doctor across from her was shuffling through papers, getting ready to ask her a few questions. In the meanwhile, she caught sight of the television and she watched the news dully and silently – it was on the Lyon local news. She stored this fact away for later and listened as the newscaster ran through a couple stories._"__Ce jour-là__, nous marquons le __quartrième semaine __depuis la mort de __Francis __Cross__. __Il est décédé __le __trentième __octobre..__." _Having taken French as a course in both high school and junior high, she was happy she could understand the newscaster.

She did the math. October thirtieth plus four weeks made it November twenty-sixth. She felt a little more comfortable knowing that she was aware of the date. Waiting for the doctor to be ready, she fiddled with the hospital bracelet around her wrist.

"So, miss, let's start," said the doctor. "How are you feeling?"

"I've felt better," she replied.

The doctor chuckled. "I see. I've contacted your professor at your university – you'll be transferred to a hospital in Paris soon…"

Professor?

"… well, you seem to be on your way to a full recovery regarding your physical injuries, especially with a terrible concussion you gained. Now I'd like to ask a few questions to make certain you're all caught up. What's your name, miss?"

"Ariadne Bishop," she answered, bewildered, but confident at her answer.

"Mm-hm. And today's date is – ?"

"The twenty-sixth of November."

The doctor nodded. "Alright, miss, now if you would please tell me where we are…?"

This doctor seemed incompetent, but she felt comfortable. She was still slightly confused. Why was she in –

"Lyon, France," she answered delicately, and the doctor nodded again. "Good, Miss Bishop."

As the doctor scribbled something on his clipboard, she observed her hospital room again before inquiring another question. "What happened?"

"You were hit by a car" was his reply. She took in the information slowly before carefully observing her wounds.

"Doctor, if you don't mind, I'd like to ask another question," she said, looking back up hesitantly after a few seconds. The doctor made a noise in the back of his throat, still looking through his notes. She took that as a sign to continue. "Why am I at university? I'm eighteen…"

The doctor's head whipped up in alarm. Confused, she backtracked. "I mean, I'm supposed to be in New York… I go to high school there…"

"Crap," said the doctor, bolting out of his seat and to a red button by the door. Seconds later, there were two more doctors entering the room, looking worried.

"The concussion did more than we would have liked," said the doctor. "She seemed fine at first, but she asked why she was in university. She thinks she's eighteen."

"I am!" she said defensively. "And I'm supposed to be in New York!"

"Miss Bishop," said one of the other doctors, a middle aged woman with slight creases around her eyes, "What is the year?"

"Two thousand five," she replied, giving them a firm glare.

The doctors looked at each other. Finally, the first one shook his head. "It's two thousand six, Miss Bishop…"

"It seems she doesn't remember anything from the past year," said the third doctor, who'd remained silent since he entered.

"Amnesia," the woman agreed. "Retrograde amnesia. Post-traumatic. Slightly more than mild trauma."

"Excuse me?" Ariadne demanded.

"How long do you think it'll take for her to get her memories back?"

"Maybe a few months to a year, but I haven't seen a concussion that bad since medical school. It could be years before she ever gains her memories of this past year back."

"She lost her memories of her work at the university, it seems, as well…"

"She'll have to learn them again," said the third doctor, glancing at her behind his glasses.

"She's probably lost some social connections she's made as well."

"Do we bring them back to see if she'll remember?"

"No. We'll only resort to that if she can't recall anything after a year."

One of the doctors turned to her. "What's the last thing you can remember?"

Oceans. Oceans as far as the eye could see, and yet, they were eyes too. But before that? "Submitting my scholarship application for – "

" – the university you currently attend. Right," finished the doctor. "Okay. We need to tell her professor."

"The kid, too."

"What kid?" inquired the female doctor. "You mean Mr. Cross?"

"Yes, he's been worried sick about her."

This sounded somewhat odd to Ariadne, and she swallowed, wondering if she was allowed to ask. Surely if she had a boyfriend she would remember him _somewhat,_ right? "Who's Cross?"

"Alex Cross," responded the first doctor. "The son of a very influential CEO who passed away recently – that was Francis Cross."

Ah, the man who had died four weeks ago. Pity washed over her. "And… is he my boyfriend?"

"He'd be a terrible boyfriend, he's the one who ran you over," the female doctor replied, looking agitated. "He's been pleading us to give us a report on you, and we did, saying you were alright – he certainly _acts_ like a good boyfriend, except for the fact that he nearly killed you."

"I'm sure that wasn't his fault," Ariadne said quickly.

The doctors blinked at her, and she tried to make a bargain. "Can I see him?" Maybe seeing him, she'd be able to find something out. The image of the ocean eyes came back to her. A spark of hope lit through her stomach. Could the eyes belong to Cross?

It wasn't long before a young man burst into the room, looking desperate and completely worried. "God, are you alright? I am _so_ sorry – shit. I am _so_ sorry."

She took a long look at him. His eyes… they weren't ocean. There wasn't a fleck of green in his eyes and her stomach churned in disappointment. Instead, his eyes were the color of the sky. Nice, but there wasn't any promise of finding anything out about the last year. Minutes later, after numerous apologies, she forgave him. She didn't know where her sudden generous nature came from, but she felt terrible for the young man, and the fact that she was alive seemed to be a miracle to both him and her. He left after that, without a word but only a glimmer of wistfulness in his sky blue eyes, and Ariadne knew she wouldn't see him again.

* * *

"Dom Cobb speaking," said the architect as he watched the movers pick up the last box and move out of the apartment.

"_Dom…"_

"Oh. Miles, hi."

"_Dom, did you happen to catch my student on the train to Lyon?"_

Dom felt no need to lie, because Miles would see right through him anyway, just like Dom could with Miles. "Yes, she provided an empty compartment when things got a bit out of control."

He could tell that Miles's attention was diverted even before the professor replied instantly, _"Out of control? What happened?"_

"Arthur's subconscious gave us a scare at the very end of the extraction."

"_Is he alright?"_

"Yeah, he's doing fine," said Dom, frowning. "Though he's become more and more detached from us. I don't know if he's trying to heal, or…"

"_Well, I wish him the very best. Dom, listen."_

"Yes?"

"_My student was hit by a car an hour after you arrived in Lyon."_

Dom froze, his eyes wide, and he felt his heart skip a beat. "Miles… I'm sorry."

"_Tell me what you told her before she left the train."_

There was no use hiding that from Miles either, and Dom was forced to spill out the details of her discovering the world of dreams, even though she hadn't actually tried it. Miles was silent throughout the entire explanation, and it was only when Dom had terminated his long talk that Miles replied softly over the phone. _"Dom, don't you think that that's a bit much to absorb in two hours?"_

"What do you mean?"

"_I mean she was possibly so entranced and pulled into the idea, just like you, years ago, that she had completely diverted her attention from the real world to a fantasy. She wasn't paying attention."_

"Miles, look, I'm sorry. What else do you want from me?"

"_I just want your promise that you won't explain it to her again."_

Dom was about to agree and promise that he never would, until he caught onto the last word. "Again? She's a smart girl, why would she need an explanation again?"

There was a lengthy pause over the line. It became uncomfortable and Dom paced the room impatiently. "Miles – "

"_She has amnesia, Dom. She can't remember anything from the past year. Retrograde amnesia… post-traumatic. They called me for the second time to tell me."_

If Dom didn't feel horrible earlier, he felt absolutely terrible now. At first, he had hardly registered what Miles said over the phone, but as the seconds ticked by the world seemed to come to a halt. His throat constricted and he stared at a spot on the now empty wall, trying to push down the feeling of immense guilt that washed through him. Then he remembered she wouldn't understand the last few months she'd spent at the university. "Shit. Miles…"

Miles's sigh came over the line, and his words followed not too long after. _"She'll need to relearn everything. Everything I taught her since the beginning of the year."_

"You don't know that. There are people whose talents stay with them subconsciously."

"_I certainly hope she's like that."_

Dom swallowed, trying to ignore the pressing feeling on his chest. "Miles, really, I'm sorry."

"_She's being transferred to Paris tomorrow." _Miles's tone was short.

The architect made a bitter noise as he leaned against the wall of his empty apartment. "Look, Miles, I can't do anything. I'm leaving for L.A. tomorrow, and I won't be able to – "

"_Dom, I don't want you to do anything except ignore the fact that she's going to be here."_

A twinge of annoyance. "Who do you think I am, Miles? I'm not a teenager anymore!"

"_I know you aren't, Dom, I'm just warning you because even without her memories of the past year she will still be intrigued by the fact that she dreams her worlds and builds them on paper in real life. I don't want you to encourage it. For once, I want my brightest student to be innocent as well, and dedicated to reality. Even if she ends up falling into your patterns, I just want the satisfaction of knowing that I did all I could to keep her away."_

His reasoning made sense, even if Dom didn't agree with his opinion on dreams. "Fine, Miles, okay. As if I was going to visit anyway."

* * *

He visited.

Mal was visiting her doctor once before they left, and he had to pick her up before their flight at seven in the evening, but he had time because it was twelve thirty nine and they'd already packed everything.

It hadn't been hard locating her, even though he didn't know her name. All he had to say to the nurse was, "I'm looking for a young lady – "

The nurse had given him a sympathetic look and told him, "Intracranial injury ward, just down the hall and take the last left, room one-oh-six."

She was asleep when he got there, and Dom was struck dumb by how young she really was. Just how much she reminded him of himself when he was younger, small and delicate. He'd been tiny too, new to the world, constantly introduced to new concepts and ideas. Except she had her arm encased in a large, thick cast, too large for her small frame, and her torso was wrapped with layers of bandages. Her forehead was spun with bandages as well. The car accident had obviously been terrible.

She shifted. Dom smiled without thinking at the action, before spotting a stack of blank paper on the table beside the hospital bed. His eyes shifted between her and the paper, and finally he pulled out a pen.

_I'm not pulling her back in, _thought Dom as he began to sketch on a piece of paper. _I'm not. I'm just leaving something to get her started on relearning her lessons. But it isn't fair to leave her newest knowledge of another world untouched…_

He sketched for two hours. She slept throughout his entire visit, and his final pen stroke made him more satisfied than he'd ever been for a while, and he folded his designs and sketches, carefully slipping them into her open hand. The light from the side lamp glinted off of her hospital bracelet, illuminating it. He leaned over, trying to read the information printed under the plastic, and caught sight of the letters _A _and _R_ when the door to the room opened and a nurse said, "Excuse me, sir, but I'll have to wake her now."

"Of course," Dom said, moving away. He watched for a second more as the young student in the bed clenched her hand around his sketches. Then, abruptly remembering the time, he groaned and left, because Mal was probably already finished with her appointment and now waiting for him in the already winter-like weather.

* * *

She unfolded the many sketches in her hands the second the nurse propped her up on the pillow. They were gorgeous, just like the ones she was planning on submitting for her scholarship application to her favorite university. In fact, it was as though someone had read her mind. The sketches of buildings and cities after that were exquisite, but it wasn't until she caught onto the sketch with the city on the edge of the ocean when she felt overwhelmed with emotion.

"Did you draw those, sweetheart?" questioned the nurse. "Those are amazing."

Ariadne was about to protest when she saw a note scrawled on the back of the sketch of the ocean.

_How inappropriate to call this planet Earth when it is quite clearly Ocean._

_A quote by Arthur C. Clark. Even if you've forgotten one world, there's always another. That's why there's the ocean, an escape from reality when you need it._

_DC_

She was released two weeks later after her ribs had healed so she could walk and do activities without feeling too pained, and after her arm was put into a smaller, but just as long cast. Her concussion had healed to a faint scar on the back of her head, hidden by her hair. But she had no recollection of the past year she had lived, except for the ocean colored eyes, and at times she thought she would drown from the memory. She told no one. She would be regarded as ridiculous.

Her professor, Miles, had no need to reteach her everything. Somehow, she had remembered everything she learned, and Miles regarded this as a miracle. It wasn't as if the information and the words appeared in her mind when he asked her a question, but rather when they were given an assignment an image would appear in her head and she would depict it, earning full marks. When they were asked to design something as an assignment, she incorporated concepts she had no idea she knew, and ended up building worlds on paper that astounded her professor.

"You're learning even better than before," he told her one day as she stayed after in the lecture hall.

She accepted the praise with no words, only a nod. She was only halfway satisfied with her designs. In her dreams, she pictured worlds with twisting corridors and dead ends. But in the university she etched out not mazes, but simply designs complex enough to confuse and deter.

Still, in her dreams, she ran from an unknown foe. She always stopped at the ocean. The foe, the faceless foe, came running to her but she dove into the depths of the salty sea and another world made itself known to her. She led the foe on chases through maze-like halls, and finding places to hide from the villains of her mind.

But why she was dreaming like this, she had no idea. She told no one. She refused telling Miles, though she had no idea why. As she chased the foe throughout the designs in reality, designing buildings to accomplish this on pieces of paper and handing them in to Miles, the foe chased her throughout the mazes of her mind, and she was unable to draw it out.

Every time, she always ended up at the ocean. Every time she dove in, drowned, and woke.

* * *

**Translations: **

**The news report: "Today, we mark the fourth week since the death of Francis Cross. He died the thirtieth of October…"**

**Anyway, guess what! Four year skip comin' up real soon! :O**

**So NOW you saw why that was necessary. I am such a cruel person :( **

**Love you all! (And yes, I am serious about the four year skip coming up soon...)**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: **Inception belongs to Christopher Nolan because he's the ONLY ONE who's awesome enough to create a movie that friggin' amazing!

**Notes: **Wow, I feel so bad now. Thanks for all the awesome reviews; I wish I didn't have to put Ariadne through so much pain. Oh and by the way, I'm calling Cobb as Cobb now because I feel like he's matured a lot throughout four years with all his experiences and stuff. So I'm going to be a little more professional with his name ;)

Also, before I forget anything, it makes me sad to see Christopher Nolan snubbed out of Best Directing for the Oscars. What a load of crap! They didn't even get Best Editing, and DiCaprio didn't get a nod for Best Actor :( Well, other than that… at least they got eight nominations, including Best Picture, Best Original Screenplay, and Best Original Score. They better win them this time (I know Oscars don't really even matter anymore, but it'd be nice to see them get recognized anyway). Stupid Social Network (it was a good movie but… ehhhh).

Moving on!

* * *

**Four Years Later**

Slipping a hand through his gelled hair, the extractor lifted his eyes to the ceiling of his hotel room and breathed in deeply. He really should have just stayed at Miles's house. But of course, Miles was busy at his university and his wife… didn't like Cobb all that much.

Especially after Mal's death, that was when Marie started to show her loathing for him. Miles assured him that she would get over her daughter's suicide but so far, it hadn't waned a bit, and it had already been so long…

Cobb had forgotten how it was like to feel happy. Sure, every time he heard Phillipa's voice, his daughter, or James, his son, he felt his heart lift, but he had forgotten how it felt to go throughout life without an ominous, pressing feeling of _guilt_ on his chest. All he could think about was Mal in the last moments before her death. Truth be told, he couldn't remember much.

There was always a distraction though; he was grateful for it, and that was a world he escaped to when he hooked himself up to the PASIV device. When he left the building of his memories he escaped to the shore encasing the city he was in, watching it. It always left him a feeling of déjà-vu, but he never understood why. He always associated it with the world in limbo, which he barely remembered save for the old bodies he and Mal were in. He only recalled moving to the dollhouse where Mal's safe remained, unlocking it, and ultimately beginning the thought that caused her to turn into a restless, confused, and mostly dangerous soul.

Still, he escaped to that land outside the prison of memories to get a relief. He sat on a bench on the shore, watching the waves move gently onto the sand. He wondered if he could make them become violent. Maybe the next time he came down, he would do that.

But today, he was planning to meet Miles after classes ended. Miles didn't know, of course. Cobb had only just arrived here and he had to find an architect for his newest job which, if done successfully, would lead him back to his children. Nash had been a coward. Cobb was off to find an architect who was much more devoted and imaginative than him, anyway. If Cobb had been the architect (which he couldn't for terrible, dangerous reasons), he would definitely have remembered to check the carpet.

However, Cobb couldn't shake off the feeling that he'd known an architect who had been just as bright as himself, but he couldn't remember who. Honestly, he could hardly recall what happened before Mal's death, except for his kids' births and his childhood. The traumatic experience of Mal's suicide stuck with him, sitting right on top of the couple of years before she turned psycho from his idea planted in her mind. Arthur remembered a job they'd done, the mark being a young man named Alex Cross, and he remembered being on a train and breaking down, but the details about it had been lost, because the learning experience Arthur had gained from it had drowned everything about it out of his head. They both knew there had been a chemist there to help them, but the name of the chemist they couldn't remember.

Cobb stood up from his spot on his sofa and slipped into his jacket. Miles would be done by now and Cobb had to go ask about an architect. Miles had said there were some bright students he was teaching. Cobb had no desire to take away their innocence of reality and introduce them to the addicting world of dreams, but Cobb had no other idea of how to get back to James and Phillipa. If he knew any other way, he would do it in a heartbeat.

* * *

The professor, his hair now completely whitened and slightly more wrinkles etched into the corners of his eyes, didn't notice the door of the lecture hall open. He was grading papers, specifically his senior students, who were the top of their class this year. Miss Bishop had been willing to aid a lot of students after class, a trait she hadn't shown before her memory of a year – a very _important_ year – had been lost. She was much more selfless and Miles often wondered if that was because she couldn't remember Dom, his son-in-law, who had gotten married to Mal shortly after arriving at Los Angeles four years earlier. Ariadne's designs were almost identical to the ones she'd done when she first arrived, but she drew the ocean, for some odd reason, in nearly every blueprint handed back to him. When he'd asked why, she admitted (to him and only him) that it was the one thing she could remember from the year she'd forgotten after the car accident.

And so, Miles was far too caught up to hear his son-in-law come into his room and comment on his dislike for his office; Miles vaguely heard himself respond back. It was something about 'there being no space to think.' His surprise waned off quickly, however.

His son-in-law moved down the stairs, carrying a paper bag. "Look, I, uh – " He began, setting the bag on Miles's desk, " – brought these for you to give to the kids when you have a chance."

"It'll take more than the occasional stuffed animal to convince those children they still have a father," Miles replied, looking up at Cobb.

"I'm just doing what I know," said Cobb matter-of-factly, frowning. "I'm doing what you taught me."

Miles shook his head. "I never taught you to be a thief."

But Cobb's answer was confident. "You taught me to navigate people's minds, but after what happened – " here Miles knew he was referring to Mal, " – there weren't a whole lot of legitimate ways to use that skill." By the end of it, Miles noticed Cobb was avoiding his eyes, and the professor knew he was feeling guilty again. Miles took a deep look at his son-in-law, trying to guess his next move, and hoping it wasn't what his gut feeling was telling him it was. He sat back against his chair.

"What are you doing here, Dom?"

Cobb took his time to answer, staring at the ground first, before smiling slightly and looking back at Miles. "I think I found a way home," he said simply, his hands folded across his chest. "It's a job for some very, _very_ powerful people – people who _I believe _can fix my charges _permanently_."

He paused and Miles took the few seconds of silence to absorb the information. He barely finished when Cobb continued, "But I need your help."

Oh, no. Miles knew why he was here. But the path that Ariadne had been taking, the path that she'd always been taking, was one already leading her down the road to dreams. He'd gotten several inquiries about her abilities already, none of them trustworthy, and Miles had to make a decision before she would be inevitably taken in by one of the monsters of the dream world. Miles shook his head again and smiled wistfully. "You're here to corrupt one of my brightest and best."

Cobb's eyebrows rose, and he looked almost amused. "Now what I'm offering, you have to let them decide for themselves," Cobb began, but Miles nodded and interrupted, "Money."

"Not just money," said Cobb. His words had taken on a tone of passion and longing. "You remember? It's the chance to build cathedrals, entire cities, things that never existed. Things that couldn't exist in the real world."

Miles bit his lip, looking down at his desk. Should he, or should he not? He wanted desperately to keep Ariadne, who felt like a daughter to him, out of all this trouble. He didn't want another daughter of his to be drugged by dreams. But that wasn't an option, because there had been threats that if she wasn't already employed, the monsters would take her. His only option now was to give her to his son-in-law, and she would be safest with him, regardless of what he'd done. He knew Cobb wasn't guilty, but Cobb didn't know Cobb wasn't guilty, and he hoped that wouldn't interfere with Ariadne's safety.

And perhaps if Ariadne saw Cobb, she'd remember something.

Miles looked back up to Cobb.

"I need an architect who was as good as I was," Cobb pleaded, the sorrow over the years filling into his eyes.

This was it. Miles had to do it or some other monster would take her away and kill her like Mal died. His decision was finalized after just seconds.

"I've got somebody better."

* * *

"Ariadne?"

She'd been coming down the stairs to leave her classes for the day when Professor Miles had called her name. There was a patient looking tall man beside him, with gelled back dirty blond hair, and he was observing the university with mild interest. Ariadne made her way toward them and Miles gestured to the man. "I'd like you to meet Mr. Cobb."

The man's eyes connected with hers. Ocean. Ocean eyes that she recognized instantly but she could hardly understand why. This man had something to do with her, but she couldn't quite remember why.

"Nice to meet you," she said smoothly, reaching over to take his hand. He shook it firmly and a spark ran up her arm. She had never had a feeling of déjà-vu before like this one.

The rest of the following seconds were like a fog passing through her mind. She could only focus on his eyes. A sudden longing for the year she had missed rushed back to her: she had barely any desire before today to find out what had happened that year, but now, she desperately wanted it back.

"Like a work placement?" she inquired.

"Not exactly." He was amused, she could tell that much, but his eyes began to show that he was hiding a parasitical truth.

He took her out after class, allowing her to purchase a sandwich from the nearest family deli. She could feel him watching. When she paid the cashier and took her food, he led her to the small park with a patio hosting fences made of rails and overlooking Paris. She came here nearly every day; her first visit was accompanied by an odd familiar feeling, as though she'd been there once before, but if she had, she couldn't recall it. He told her slightly, only slightly, about his profession and what it was about. "It's not, strictly speaking, legal."

"_It IS illegal! I can't believe you gave my design to a man doing an illegal job!"_

The memory came to her like wildfire, sudden and burning. But who she was telling it to and what it was generally about was lost on her.

He handed her a notebook and a pen. She looked back at him and found his sea-colored eyes watching her firmly. He told her to design a maze in two minutes that would take him one minute to solve. Easy enough… right?

Her first attempt was disappointing; the upset flash in his eyes only emphasized it. He tore out the paper and shoved the notebook back to her. "Again."

Again? Well, okay, she would do it again. She drew another maze, following the grids of the notebook unconsciously. Two minutes faded away and he pulled the notebook away from her, solving it within seconds.

"You're going to have to do better than that – " he started, turning his piercing eyes on her, but she pursed her lips and snatched the notebook and pen back from him. No one insulted her work, especially when she was the top in her class. The grids stared up at her intimidatingly, and she flipped over to the cardboard back of the notebook, unwilling to be deterred by the guidelines. She would do things her own way. Thinking quickly of a layout concept she'd had in a dream, she quickly began drawing out the maze it was laid upon.

Before the two minutes were up, she handed it back to him, squinting as the sun shone brightly behind him. He began to start to solve it, but halted, his eyes shifting quickly over the page. He was stumped.

He smiled at the notebook, his eyes still roaming it. "That's more like it." A sense of victory flew through Ariadne. She'd gotten him, she'd confused him, and that felt immensely pleasing. He'd left her confused and unguided, and it was only right that he got a sense of that himself –

Wait, where had _that_ come from? She shook her head and the thoughts disappeared. She found him looking at her, nodding. "Alright. Are you ready?"

"Ready for what? The job?"

"Not just a job, a new world," he told her, handing her back the notebook. "You can keep that."

She pushed it back to him, shaking her head. "A new world?"

"Dreaming, Ariadne," he said. She found she liked him knowing her name.

She couldn't help but counter. "I'll be working with a _dream team, _huh, Mr. Cobb?"

"There's no need for a 'mister,' Ariadne," he said, leading them out of the park. "Really. My first name's Dom, you can call me that, if you like."

Dom. The name stuck with her like glue. "Sounds familiar," she said before she could stop herself. He eyed her as they walked.

"Really? How so?"

"I don't know," she said, suddenly hesitant and regretting her words. "I feel like I've met someone like you before, I just don't remember them. Except they weren't as… I feel like they weren't as mature, you know what I mean?"

"I was quite inexperienced a few years ago," he explained. "Anyway, I was introduced to a whole lot of concepts and things in a very short amount of time, and it changed me."

"For the better or for the worse?"

"I really can't tell." His smile was wistful and he avoided her eyes. He stopped walking and looked up at a hotel. "This is my stop. You'll be fine getting back to your place, right?"

The way he said it sounded odd to her but she gave him a firm nod anyway. "I'll get in touch with you soon, so be prepared," he said in response to her agreement. "Bye."

He disappeared within the hotel without another word. Ariadne breathed out a sigh of relief, unaware she'd been holding it in. Nothing this unusual had happened since she'd been hit by that car and lost her memories of the year before that.

Half an hour later, she was climbing up the stairs in her apartment building and padding down the hallway. Entering her apartment, she threw her college sac on her sofa and headed toward her desk, determined to draw a whole lot more mazes and challenge herself. However, as she pulled a pile of blank paper toward her, a sketch of building and the ocean made itself known from being hidden behind the stack. She read the note behind it quickly, staring at the two letters at the end. _DC. DC. _She applied _his_ name. Dom… Cobb. _DC, _Dom Cobb.

Oh… crap.

* * *

**This chapter certainly isn't one of my favorites. I don't know why. Maybe it was too rushed, but I tried rewriting it a couple times and it wouldn't come out differently.**

**At any rate, thanks for all the encouragement, guys! I love you all :) **

**And I told you the skip would be coming soon! :D **


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: **No, no, no, the dream world belongs to Christopher Nolan and Christopher Nolan only. YOUR DREAMS ARE BEING MONITORED. (Oh, and Inception belongs to him too.)

**Notes: **Crap, I am so sorry for the long delay this time around. My teachers found it satisfying to throw homework, projects, quizzes and tests down our throats because it was the end of the semester. Ugh, I really hope it doesn't happen again :(

* * *

It was seven forty six when Cobb gave her a call. She was sleeping in, trying to take advantage of the Saturday morning, and he could tell he'd woken her up when her slurred, slightly annoyed voice came over the line: _"Hello?"_

"Ariadne. It's Cobb." He smiled into his cell, trying to imagine her expression, though it wasn't too hard with her next words.

"_C – oh. Mm." _Her eyebrows were obviously raised, her hand running through her hair – Cobb had been trained in this in the past couple years and could read people like a book, regardless whether or not they were actually with him. She took a breath over the line. _"So where's it at?"_

"An abandoned warehouse downtown, but that's beside the point," he answered. "I'm not taking you there today. I was actually going to drive out to Cherbourg. It's a long drive, but I need to fetch my good friend. You'll be okay with that? I'm asking you to come along so you can meet him."

There was a prolonged silence over the line until a faint scratching noise emitted from the phone. _"Sorry, I was – "_ her breath caught and Cobb's eyebrows disappeared under his ruffled hair (he hadn't gelled it yet), _" – just looking at a design… of… um, well… just something. A long drive? Don't you think that's a bit too – "_

"Ariadne, if you're going to be doing this job, you're going to have to cooperate with me. It's just a bit of a drive. Four hours there, we spend a night, grab my friend, four hours back – and I'll teach you more on the way. It's a _job. _Miles'll excuse you from class if necessary; he understands the importance of this. And you're getting paid. An eight hour drive to and from Cherbourg is nothing compared to a job that'll take months to prepare."

There was another pregnant pause, but finally she concurred and questioned him on their rendezvous.

"I'll just come pick you up," he answered.

Minutes later, the phone was hung up and Cobb squinted at the address in front of him. He'd been there before, hadn't he? It was an apartment building. Yes, he lived there. He couldn't exactly remember the details but he'd lived there before. At eight oh one, he climbed into his car and drove the short distance to the building. At eight oh seven, he called her once more and she appeared at eight oh eight at the entrance of the lobby, wearing what he learned to be her trademark scarf around her neck and a light jacket over a t-shirt with jeans.

She opened the back seat door and placed her bag on the seat, moving to sit beside her bag. "Oh, no, no, you're staying up here," said Cobb, patting the seat beside him.

"But I don't want to distract you." She frowned.

Cobb shot her a smile. "I thought I told you I'd teach you some more on the way, right?"

Her own smile seemed to be forced, but she shut the door to the back seat gently and moved to the front. "Thanks." And Cobb pulled out of the parking spot.

* * *

Half an hour later, Ariadne could find nothing better to do but stare out the window at the passing French scenery. She'd been dozing on and off and wanted desperately for her mind to stop nagging her and let her be in peace, but the harder she tried the harder she focused on the voice inside her. _Tell him, _it whispered soothingly. _Oh, Ariadne, it won't hurt to tell him. He's obviously the one who drew it. Tell him._

Ariadne opened her mouth as soon as she gathered the courage to do so when Cobb's voice interrupted her thoughts. "You sounded a bit unfocused on the phone this morning."

"You'd just woken me up," Ariadne said, frowning. "Of course I was unfocused."

Sheepishly, he glanced at her while turning onto a more occupied road. "Well, yes, I'm sorry about that. You mentioned something about a design, it interested me. Can I see it?"

"I didn't draw it," she protested weakly, her courage depleting to nothing once more.

"Oh. Who did?"

She _did _know who it was, right? The initials _DC _inscribed on the back of the design fit his name: _Dom Cobb. _And the ocean. It was occupying her mind. The artist of the design clearly had a connection with the ocean as well… did Cobb ever show an interest in the ocean? She couldn't remember if he did. Her hesitancy grew and she remained silent.

Cobb glanced at her again. "Ariadne? You okay?"

"Yeah. Yes. Sorry." She shook her head. She should show him anyway.

"You know, if you don't want to show me, you can just say it…" Cobb began, squinting at the next direction on the sheet of paper to reach Cherbourg.

"No, no, it's not that. I just don't know who drew it," said Ariadne.

She could see the cogs turning in his head. "Really?" Cobb inquired, frowning. "Did you get it off the internet, or did Miles give it to you – ?"

"I woke up in the hospital with a bunch of designs and sketches folded up in my hand. One of them was that one," she explained. _Now or never._

"Wait. Slow down. Hospital?"

"I was hit by a car four years ago." It felt odd saying it, even after all the years that had passed. "I lost my memories of the year before it."

He glanced at her again and she saw something flash through his eyes. "And you woke up in the hospital with designs in your hands?"

"Yeah. Someone must have probably stopped by and given them," she said, starting to rummage through her handbag for it. She kept it with her all the time now. It was one of the few things that triggered a sense of déjà-vu.

Cobb was silent for a few seconds. "I'm sorry," he said finally, in a soft voice.

"Why're you – "

"About your memory loss. It must have been hard." His voice was tight and she had a feeling he wasn't telling her something.

"Well, never mind that," she said, waving the matter away. "You sound stressed. What's wrong?"

He turned to look at her completely and Ariadne had to direct his attention to the road again. "I'm fine," he said tersely. "I'm fine. I – "

"You are _not _fine. Miles gives me that look all the time when I ask him about the year I lost my memory of. What are you not telling me?"

"Can I see that drawing, Ariadne?" he said instead.

Taken aback, she stared at him. "Why?"

"I want to see it. That's all."

"Pull over," she told him.

He pulled over on the shoulder of the road. His hand extended to take the design, but she sat silently, watching him.

"Have we met before?" she questioned, her eyebrows rising.

She saw him flinch. "I don't know. That's what I'm trying to figure out."

"If we did, shouldn't _you_ remember?" she said, nearly spitting out the words. "Don't _hide _it from me."

Cobb's sea-colored eyes regarded her own, before shifting to the road again, watching the other cars pass by. "I haven't exactly lived a carefree, happy life, _Ariadne,"_ he said, enunciating her name precisely to emphasize his point. "The past few years have put a toll on my mind. Sometimes, events can hinder your memory."

"Honestly, it feels like we did meet." Ariadne shifted her gaze to the road also, trailing the rapidly passing cars with her own eyes as well.

"Can I see the design?" asked Cobb. Ariadne fished it from her handbag and handed it to him silently.

He had on a poker face the entire time. "Anything?" she inquired, getting nervous.

His eyes shot up to hers and he shook his head slowly. "No… I didn't draw this. I'm sorry. I guess we're just mistaking each other for different people."

"But there's a – "

Cobb cell phone burst into song in insistence, and he held up a hand. "Sorry. I've got to answer this, it's my friend."

Ariadne shut her mouth, disappointment seeping into her like poison. It wasn't him. Then why did he strike so much emotion through her? Maybe he just couldn't remember. She took the sketch back and flipped it over, rereading the note with a sunken heart. She knew that sometimes people forgot things because they didn't want to remember. Then again, she wasn't one to talk, she couldn't remember a whole year before she'd been hit by a car.

"Arthur, hi," said Cobb in the meantime. "Yeah. I'm on my way, sorry. I'm bringing our new architect by… no, Miles introduced her to me. I tested her with mazes, she did well." Cobb paused as he pulled out of the shoulder lane and merged back onto the road. "Look. Arthur. Call Eames and ask him where he is. Oh, the states? Well, tell him not to focus too much on Mombasa when he gets there, we might need him for the job."

Ariadne turned back to the front of the design and gripped it tightly as Cobb continued. "No, I didn't get a blueprint copy from Miles. Did you want to look at it? I'll call him and ask him to fax it to you. What's the number over there?" Cobb shot a look at Ariadne, and she fished through her handbag for a pen and a small pad of paper. "Uh huh. Two three three… five nine eight… fifty five fifty five. Thanks, Arthur. I'll ask Miles to fax a copy of her work to you. Hold up one sec." Cobb pulled the phone from his ear while steadying the wheel with another, glancing over at her. "Is it okay for my friend to get a copy of your work from Miles, Ariadne?"

A feeling of protectiveness ran through her, but she ignored it and nodded, shoving the pad of paper with the number in her handbag.

Cobb placed the cell phone back to his ear. "Okay, so I'll just get Miles to send you a copy, whatever he has saved or something… okay. Yeah, that's fine. Oh, and Arthur, get a separate room."

Ariadne felt her cheeks flush scarlet as she stared out the window, her hands crumpling the design in her hands – it was useless now.

"Well, she wouldn't want to spend a night in the room with us, especially you, Arthur, your history with ladies is a bit questionable. I don't think she's like that… please stop speaking French so rapidly, Arthur, you know I lost my ability to understand most of it a while ago. Mm-hm. I'll see you in a few hours, don't forget to call Eames. Okay, Arthur. See you." Cobb flipped the phone shut and awkwardly shoved it into his pocket below the seatbelt.

Glancing over at her again, his brows furrowed. "Why'd you ball up the design? It was a good one."

"I don't want to remember," she said.

"What do you mean?"

She leaned her head against the window, feeling the coolness of the glass seep into her forehead relaxingly. _You were the only chance I had left. No one else makes me feel so close, yet so far. _"I don't want to remember who gave it to me anymore."

"Well, the drawing of the ocean there was lovely." Cobb gave a slight smile.

Ariadne stared vacantly out of the window, but soon she was engulfed in a wave of wistfulness. "How inappropriate to call this planet Earth when it is quite clearly Ocean."

"That's a quote," Cobb acknowledged, smiling. "Not a very popular one, but one of my favorites. Where did you hear it?"

In response, she carefully undid her crumbled ball of the design and flipped it over to the back. "There's a note here," she said quietly, "with that quote."

"Oh. Who wrote it?"

"Again. I don't know. That's why I asked you," admitted Ariadne sheepishly. "Cobb, I'm sorry, I shouldn't put all this pressure on you right now when you have a job to do."

He flinched and for a second, looked like he wanted to dispute it. Instead, he said softly, "Thank you, but it's not all what you think."

* * *

The drive from then on was uneventful, except for a bit of explanations from Cobb about the job. Only a bit, though, about who the employer for them – Saito – was, and what the basic idea of the job was (to get Robert Fischer Jr. to split apart the company established by his deceased father). Throughout all of this Cobb was detached and stoic, asking questions and giving her answers in a slightly distant voice.

Finally, after Cobb told her they had approximately five minutes until they reached Cherbourg, he dialed Miles back at Paris as they waited in traffic. "I'm putting it on speaker phone," Cobb told her. "You can interject whenever you want."

_Probably won't have to,_ thought Ariadne glumly, observing the other drivers around them in their cars. Half of them were smoking. Oh, well.

"Hey, Miles! Listen. What's the best copy of Ariadne's work you've got laying around?"

"_Hello to you too, Dom. I only have a little bit. I have some originals of her recent works and a copy of a blueprint you used for a job a few years ago."_

Cobb frowned and Ariadne's interest was suddenly perked. "Job? What job?"

"_Oh, Dom, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you'd put that behind you. I'm sure Arthur remembers it slightly."_

"What job was it?"

"_The Cross job. With Alexander Cross, the one you had to take information from on his dead father."_

Alex Cross. Ariadne felt like she was going to throw up. What did _that_ mean?

"Oh. You mean when Mal, Arthur and I were in Paris for a little bit. I barely remember that job, only that right after it we moved out." Cobb gave a slight shrug that only Ariadne saw.

"_Yes, well, you gave me a copy of the blueprint after you marked all over it. It wasn't yours, it was hers, you just wanted it for a job."_ Miles spoke naturally. Of course he did. Ariadne knew he was only speaking like this because he thought he wasn't on speaker phone. And that was what he'd been hiding from her. Betrayal was all she was feeling now, and she became numb to everything else. It was a key piece from the year she'd lost, and her most trusted professor didn't tell her about it.

Next to her, Cobb froze. "You mean – she was my architect before?"

"_Oh dear. I'm sorry, Dom, sometimes I just forget you barely remember much – "_

"No, hold on – back up, Miles. I don't remember any of this. Are you certain?"

"_What will it take for you to remember, Dom?" _Miles' voice was weary. _"Don't be stubborn. Please."_

"I don't know, Miles. But I need to be stubborn, not curious. That led me in the wrong direction. I won't accept it until I remember it myself."

* * *

**So anyway, again, I am SO sorry. Good lord. I just had so much school work the past couple weeks that I had no time to work on this. And this chapter just feels like a fill in. =/**

**Also, yes, there are going to be a bit more Cobb/Ariadne chapters in the meantime because of the interaction I need them to have. So the development will mainly be on their parts.**

**I love you all and your amazing abilities to remain patient with me. Hopefully I won't update so late this time.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** Yeah. Uh… no. Not mine.

**Notes: **... slight Titanic reference in here, not much. Cookies if you find it! Lol. It's not even a reference. It's a quote. :)

* * *

"Cobb?"

He clenched his jaw, switching his gaze from the piled traffic in front of him to the ceiling of the car, before returning back to regard the packed road. It had been the first time she'd quietly questioned him with his name, but he'd felt she'd asked every passing second. After a few seconds, he heard her take in a shallow breath and shift in her seat.

His cell burst into a song insistently. Cobb cringed and flipped it open. "Yeah. Arthur. Hi."

"_Hey. Are you almost here?"_

"Yeah, almost, if the traffic would move."

Arthur gave a sigh over the phone. _"Oh, well. Anyway, Miles called me later. He got my cell number somehow; I guess you must have given it to him beforehand. I got copies of her work, and Christ, Cobb, these are amazing. No words for them. I'm not even an architect and I think they're fantastic. Do you know the amount of paradoxes that could be incorporated into these? We'd lose the projections in minutes in these designs, they're made for dreams."_

"Oh. Yes." Cobb inwardly breathed a sigh of relief as the traffic began moving. "I haven't… I haven't exactly looked yet. Look, Arthur, I'm going to have to let you go, I'll see you in a few minutes."

"_Okay, I'll see you soon."_

And the line went dead. Cobb flipped his phone shut and began to drive forward. The young architect beside him began to fidget, and he tried his best not to look her way. That ridiculous drawing. He never drew anything like that; he never drew any landscapes (outside of anything for dreams) besides for Mal. If he did he would have remembered.

The air in the car had become tense and unnervingly pressing, and it was excruciatingly relieving to come up in front of the small, modest hotel Arthur was staying at. Cobb nearly leapt out of the car, not waiting for Ariadne as she fumbled with the car door and stumbling after him. "Cobb, Cobb – wait – Cobb – "

Bristling slightly at her words, Cobb spared her a sharp glance. "Hurry up."

Ariadne huffed, narrowing her eyes, and stomped after him. Cobb entered the hotel and strode straight to the elevators, pressing the button. He stood there as Ariadne arrived beside him, waiting for the elevator doors to open.

"Cobb – " Ariadne began, her tone becoming slightly pleading.

He sighed and looked at her. "Not now, Ariadne." The elevator doors chimed open, and Cobb stepped into it. Ariadne remained standing outside the elevator door.

"Ariadne, get in."

She gave him a hard glare. "Why is it that I'm so willing to accept this and you aren't?"

Cobb closed his eyes, his finger moving to press on the 'door open' button of the elevator. Seconds passed and he opened them again. "You're the one who is willing to find out anything about the year you lost. I didn't lose my memories – I would have remembered you. I would have known if I had drawn that ocean sketch, but I know I didn't."

Ariadne's eyebrows furrowed and she shifted her balance between her feet. "Oh, you're saying you didn't lose your memories now? Tell me, just how different is blocking your memories and losing them?"

"There's a big difference. Get in the damn elevator," snapped Cobb.

She shook her head defiantly and stood her ground, placing her hands on her hips.

"_Monsieur, mademoiselle, est-ce qu'il y a une problème?" _questioned a clerk from the reception desk near the entrance of the hotel.

Ariadne turned her head over her shoulder and gave a cheery yet obviously fake smile to the clerk. _"Non, madame. Il n'y a rien de problème. Merci." _The clerk nodded hesitantly and gave a smile back before Ariadne turned to Cobb again and steeled her eyes on him.

"Ariadne," said Cobb warningly.

She stomped into the elevator and Cobb watched as the doors closed. "You blocking your memories is exactly the same as someone losing them. How do you not know this?"

"I don't want lectures from you."

"Too bad," said Ariadne hotly. "You're getting one. Regardless of whether or not we've met before."

The elevator quietly mounted the hotel and Cobb prayed for it to climb just a little faster, offering no response to the young woman at his side.

"Cobb – "

"Later, Ariadne. Please. I have too much to deal with right now," said Cobb, turning his eyes on her. He hoped she could understand that now wasn't the best time. She gazed back at him evenly until something inside her seemed to break, and her eyes softened. She nodded and turned back to the doors of the elevator as the elevator slowed and the doors began to pull apart.

Cobb stepped out of the elevator and looked around. "Three sixty, three sixty, three sixty… excuse me," he said, bypassing a rather old French lady. "Three sixty… here it is."

Ariadne suddenly appeared by his side. "Can I knock?" she inquired, and the past moment's feeling dissipated.

He made a motion for her to 'go ahead' and she knocked swiftly. There was a shuffle within the room before a voice was heard behind the door. "Cobb, that is certainly not your way of knocking."

"It's Miss Bishop's," said Cobb, smiling slightly.

The door opened and a young man with jet black hair slicked back across his head gave them entryway to the room. "Cobb," said the man, smiling. "And you must be Miss Bishop."

"Ariadne, please," said the architect, following Cobb into the hotel room and grinning back. "You're Arthur, then? The one he kept talking to on the phone?"

"I'm the point man of this job," said Arthur, holding his hand out. Ariadne shook it firmly. "I guess you could call me the 'researcher,' or something like that."

Cobb walked further into the hotel room and looked around. "You said you got some samples?"

"Oh, yeah. On the desk next to the TV."

The older man moved toward the designated area and the 'point man' turned back to Ariadne, who stood silently by the door. "Your work," began Arthur, nodding appreciatively, "is _really_ good. Just like Cobb, when he was younger and he did the building."

Cobb stiffened as he heard Arthur talk and tried with all his might to refrain himself from denying it. Even though he'd never seen her actual designs before – oh, _Jesus._ These were amazing.

Staring in front of him on the desk beside the TV was a stack of blueprints and sketches. Already, the first sketch was gorgeous. Beautiful. He peered closer, squinting, and for what seemed to be the millionth time he was in awe. Wait? Millionth? No, no, _no,_ this was the first time he was seeing her designs. He shook his head quickly and sifted through the designs as Arthur continued speaking.

"When I first met him – a while ago, he took me in when my parents died – " Arthur looked completely unfazed as he said this, " – he always drew, all the time. He'd stay at his desk after college and just draw. I found him like that all the time after I came home from high school."

"Arthur," said Cobb, twisting his neck over his shoulder to give the point man a warning glance. Ariadne glanced at him and Cobb faltered at the clouded look in her eyes.

"Sorry, Cobb," Arthur said, shrugging. "But honestly, if she knows just how much she works like you, we'll have an architect that will really be the best."

Cobb had no answer to that, and he turned back around to flip through the sketches once more. Arthur moved up to him and suggested a design. "The last one," he said. "It's really fantastic. It looks a bit edited, though. Maybe Professor Miles fixed it up or something."

Cobb quickly flipped to the end and immediately stilled. There, on a clean sheet of paper with slanted, cramped writing was a design for an intricate castle with numerous floors and rooms. Sketches of the actual rooms littered the margins. He ran his eyes across the plan and the sketches until he came at a name on the corner of the blueprint, written in the same cramped handwriting.

_Alexander Cross_

His breath caught in his throat, and he vaguely noticed Ariadne coming up behind him to observe her own design.

"Wow," she said. "I don't remember drawing that. That's really mine?"

"Miles told me you're an amnesiac… kind of, right?" Arthur said, nodding. "Yes, he said this was yours."

_Cross, Cross, Cross – the Cross job,_ thought Cobb in a panic. _Oh no. Oh no. I didn't. _

Ariadne peered over his shoulder and he knew what she was looking at. "That's not my handwriting," she observed out loud.

"Oh, yeah," said Arthur, frowning. "Miles told me it was Cobb's – is it, Cobb? – but it looks way too messy."

_No, no, no._

Ariadne was silent for a second, but Cobb could already see the look on her face without turning. Arthur went quiet too, and the atmosphere shifted to tense.

Suddenly, Arthur barked out a one-note laugh. "I totally didn't notice that! Alexander Cross – Cobb, I think you _did_ write on this! I remember now, the job took place in something of a palace… details are lost on me right now, though."

Cobb placed the design back on the desk and turned around. As soon as he did, he was faced with Arthur's innocent, cheery smile and Ariadne's wide eyed stare at the wall behind Cobb. "Arthur, did you call Eames?"

"Eames is still in Mombasa," said Arthur, shrugging, his smile still held in place. He went quiet again, but the point man's eyes shifted between Cobb and Ariadne. "Did you want me to – ?"

Arthur's question was clear: _did you want me to leave?_

Cobb jerked his head yes.

Arthur's smile dropped and he cleared his throat. "Alright. Well. I'm actually gonna go pick something up for Eames to send him in Mombasa. He asked me for it…" With that, Arthur marched to the door while throwing on a long trench coat and picking up a briefcase. "Try and look over those samples!" The point man called as he opened the hotel room door and edged out. The door clicked behind him; the noise rang throughout the hotel room.

Cobb took in a deep breath and shifted his eyes toward the ceiling. In front of him, Ariadne crossed her arms over her chest and looked everywhere but him. It wasn't until a car horn outside blared obnoxiously and Cobb's eyes turned back to Ariadne.

"Here." He took the designs from behind him without breaking his gaze and handed them to her. "Get your bag. We're going to the harbor."

* * *

Ariadne, for once, was absolutely speechless. Her 'boss' had taken her to the harbor where docks were occupied with ships and French sailors, and she occasionally spotted a couple naval officers scattered about the harbor. Cherbourg was on the edge of France, overlooking the sea. Ariadne could barely stop herself from continuously comparing the sea and the man's eyes, who was standing right next to her as she gripped her designs – half of which she didn't remember actually designing – tightly at her side.

"Gorgeous, isn't it," said Cobb quietly. He walked toward a bench gazing over the blue-green sea, motioning for her to follow him. She trailed after him silently.

He sat for a while, just regarding the water and ships with clouded eyes. Finally, he inhaled and his lips thinned. "What do you see?"

Ariadne looked over the sea as well, her eyebrows rising slightly. "Well… a bunch of French ships, and the ocean all the way over, at the horizon."

Cobb barely nodded – in fact, she wasn't sure if he had at all. He motioned to the sea once more. "Now – what do you want to see?"

Ariadne opened her mouth to answer, but she faltered. Helplessly, she inquired, "Sorry?"

"What would you like to be here instead?" He was patient while explaining his question.

She turned back to the sea and frowned. "I've always loved the ocean. I wouldn't change it for anything in the world."

"Not even architecture?" he inquired, folding his hands over his lap.

"Not even that," she confirmed.

Cobb nodded. This time it was visible. "I asked you because the samples you seem to remember drawing all have the same element."

"The sea. Right?"

"Yes," he told her. "It's odd. Not in a bad way."

Ariadne swallowed. How would she tell him this? "It's just – " Was she really going to open her most beloved – and mysterious – memory to him? "It's the first thing I remembered after waking up in the hospital, four years ago." Well, too late now.

Cobb turned to her, his eyes – exactly the same as the gorgeous sea they were overlooking – shining in the soft sunlight. "And you haven't pursued this memory to find out the year of memories you lost?"

"I tried," she said.

"Well?"

"It didn't work."

Cobb fell silent and his eyes shifted back to the sea, until he moved for her designs she kept tight under her arm. She handed the stack to him obediently and he flipped through them once more. She watched as he squinted at them in the sun, muttering to himself, and then coming across the one that had both him and her searching desperately for an answer back in the hotel room.

"Do you mind if I keep this, Ariadne?" he questioned her, lifting the design in order to clarify.

_You're giving it to him? What's he going to do with it? Why is my design so important?_

Ariadne blinked and the words vanished from her mind. Blankly, she processed his most recent words and nodded. "Yes. Sure. Keep it."

His eyes still clouded with something that Ariadne couldn't identify, he folded the design and tucked it into his coat pocket. "I'm just going to test something with it soon. I – " He faltered, and his eyes seemed to flash with – what was that? Pain? "I'm going to look into something. See how you work, what can be incorporated into our job. Get what I mean?"

Ariadne gave another nod.

Cobb stood up from the bench with her designs tucked under his arm. "Come on. Arthur's probably back at the hotel. Oh, and Ariadne…" He trailed off as she rose from the bench to trail him.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry," he said, and he looked completely sincere. "About earlier. Really, I just have so much going on. Thank you for letting it go when I asked you to."

Unable to find any response, she mimicked a nod from before.

As they walked to the car, Cobb was quiet, looking deep in thought. Ariadne had no will to interrupt him, even with all the questions that had suddenly burst inside her to find out his troubles and possibly… help him. It wasn't until they both buckled into their seats when he said quietly, "It's nice to finally know your name."

Ariadne honestly had no response to that either.

* * *

**Oooooh what do we have here?**

**And again, sorry for the long long long wait. But I actually got some work done! I was happy. I like spending some of my free time writing one shots because I – for some odd reason – express feelings better in one shots than big stories. Oh well. :)**

**French translations: "Sir, miss, is there a problem?"**

**"No, madam. There's no problem. Thank you."**

**Reviewing = more inspiration (seriously)!**

**And my love goes out to all of you who actually take the time to read through half of this useless dialogue. Haha. I love you all! :D**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: **It's quite obvious only Christopher Nolan has a genius enough mind to come up with such a bamf movie. Like, seriously.

**Notes: **Haha, I challenged you all to find the Titanic reference in the last chapter. Sorry about that, it was kinda stupid of me to do, it wasn't even that much of a reference. I just borrowed a quote. Haha. For all those wanting to know, it was the "Three sixty, three sixty, three sixty, excuse me, three sixty" thing Cobb was doing. In the beginning of Titanic, Jack Dawson was murmuring that as he was trying to find his room on the ship. LOL, I should have guessed no one would recognize it. It just stuck with me because I was watching a YouTube Poop. YTPs solve everything.

Without further ado – I did _not_ just say that. Damn.

* * *

Dominic Cobb couldn't believe he had been so stupid. How had he doubted anything? How he had doubted his new architect was beyond him – and yes, he remembered her. He remembered her fiery refusals against his will to use her design for the Cross Job. He'd just been so unwilling to accept it – he'd locked all memories of Paris away after Mal had died. He didn't want any reminders, especially when Mal was already intercepting his mind and destroying any of his attempts to move on. He had to get rid of anything in order to get past her – which meant he had to lock Ariadne Bishop away too.

Running a hand through his hair, he listened as Arthur moved about the hotel room and began packing the designs away. He'd slept fretfully. No dreams, of course. He'd been incapable of dreaming for years now. No, Cobb slept terribly because whenever he managed to fall asleep, he'd woken up and thought of how horrible he'd been. Not only had he been horrible to Ariadne and her persistence in finding her memories (when he so clearly rejected any possibility of it being him), but to Miles and to Arthur and for heaven's sake, even to Eames, whom he hadn't talked to in months. The only contact between him and the forger had been sent through Arthur.

"Dom. Earth to Dom," said Arthur, moving in front of the extractor and raising his eyebrows. "You haven't been listening to a word I've been saying, have you?"

Cobb shut his eyes and fell against his hotel bed. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I've had a really rough night's sleep." Keeping his eyes closed, he heard Arthur sigh and start moving about the room once more. "Why's that, Cobb?" inquired the point man, and Cobb opened his eyes to see him holding up a jacket and folding it carefully into a suitcase.

"I've been so terrible to you all," said Cobb softly, sitting up again and watching Arthur helplessly.

"Shut up," said Arthur bluntly. "You're being really ridiculous. How have you treated us badly?"

Cobb opened his mouth to answer, but Arthur didn't let him. "Too slow. See? You need to be a little faster than that to convince me, Dom."

There was a pregnant pause before Arthur gave another sigh and turned to him after folding another jacket into his suitcase. "Look, Dom, if you're talking about our new architect – "

"She's not new, Arthur," said Cobb.

Arthur blinked, frowning, folding his arms over his chest and looking immensely confused. "What?"

The extractor stood and began to dress, regarding himself in the mirror on top of the hotel dresser and quickly buttoning into a shirt. He'd taken a shower the night before. "She's not new. We'd used her designs before."

The point man was quiet as Cobb finished buttoning his shirt. Only when Cobb turned to slip into his coat Arthur began to speak. "You know, I was wondering when you'd realize that."

It was Cobb's turn to be confused.

"I'm not saying I remember anything. I don't. Bits and pieces, but hardly anything. You know I tried to block everything out after the Cross job," said Arthur, smiling. "But it was obvious, Cobb. The editing on the design, Cross' name on the corner of the blueprint, the handwriting – I know your handwriting doesn't look like that, Cobb, but when I talked to Eames again he had some of your old things and compared it with a photo I sent him of the blueprint. It was yours. Writing can change over time, Dom."

If he didn't feel terrible before, he did now. Even Arthur had noticed, and Cobb hadn't. He didn't have much time to ponder over this – as if he would _ponder, _he would probably mourn – because a knock on the door caused him and Arthur to jump slightly. "I wonder who _that_ could possibly be," said Arthur loudly, moving toward the door and giving Cobb a knowing look.

Arthur opened the door and Ariadne waved hello from the hallway. "When are we leaving?" inquired the architect, holding up a small bag, the same one she'd brought on her way to Cherbourg. "I'm already packed, so…"

"We'll leave in about half an hour," said Cobb, before Arthur could answer her question. "We'll stop at a small café for breakfast, but then we have to be on our way. Arthur said he'd found an empty warehouse. He wants to check it out."

He gave her a smile. Ariadne smiled back tentatively, and he knew she was feeling cautious due to the previous day's actions and words. Yesterday had been a day when they'd both been walking on eggshells… and especially with him knowing who she really was, he was going to give her everything he could. She didn't remember him, though. He knew that because he couldn't see the fiery dispassion in her eyes – or the sudden clouded look she'd gotten on that fateful train ride with Cross, after the job had been done – and he knew that once she remembered, she would hate him.

Cobb wanted to prolong that as much as possible.

* * *

The point man could see it. He could see the abrupt change in the atmosphere whenever Cobb and Ariadne were in the same room. It was just like – no, he shouldn't think about that. He couldn't help but let his thoughts linger on the two of them, though. The air cracked between them (the extractor and the architect, Arthur liked to think) but it wasn't because they were angry at each other. No, it was purely because they knew each other and didn't at the same time. Cobb remembered her. Arthur could too, but only barely; his wall in front of his memories of the Cross job had fallen, and he reminisced over the young teenager who had come with him, Cobb, and Mal – and that chemist, but he didn't really care about him anyway (what was his name? Jack? Jacques. There you go) – and offered her compartment as a hiding spot from Cross, who would have been bound to locate them and recognize them after the mishap in the dream.

The change in the air around them was noticeable, even as they sat in the car with Ariadne in the back seat, him in the passenger's seat in the front, and Cobb driving to a small family café in Cherbourg's harbor. It wasn't uncomfortable. Arthur was adept at telling the mood of the atmosphere, and he knew what it was. It was pure, utter longing.

It was the longing for learning each other. As Arthur looked in the rearview mirror, he could see Ariadne watching the passing buildings and French people as she bit her lower lip and fiddled with her thumbs.

Beside the point man, Cobb's eyes kept switching to the mirror every thirty seconds. Arthur laughed inwardly. The questions were brimming inside both of them. It was how they worked – architects asked questions and built off of them.

It was only minutes later when Cobb tightly announced that he deemed a small, hidden café (hidden having the meaning of shaded in between alley ways) was good enough to dine in. Ariadne looked at it skeptically but Arthur followed Cobb out of the car and beckoned Ariadne to come with them.

"I'm not going in some dingy restaurant like that," said the architect defensively.

"You want us to bring you something back?" asked Arthur, knowing perfectly how unsafe she felt in a suspicious looking café like the one Cobb was walking toward.

"You know, you have a higher chance of being assaulted out here than in there," Cobb called over his shoulder. The corners of Ariadne's mouth tilted downward and she stepped out of the car.

"Don't be rude," Ariadne snapped, marching quickly as she trailed Cobb into the café. "I could quit helping you any second."

Arthur hurried after them and edged through the small door of the crowded, dim lit café. Cobb laughed shortly and answered, "You wouldn't." He sat at the only open table, and Arthur took his seat beside him.

"I would!" She glared at the extractor, placing herself in the uncomfortable seat – tried to glare, anyway. Arthur attempted, quite unsuccessfully, to keep a wide grin off of his face, as Cobb's eyebrows rose and he lifted a hand to call a very tired looking waitress to their table.

"_Vous parlez fran__çais?" _the waitress inquired wearily, readying a pad and a small pen which she tested on the pad and cursed at.

_"Oui, mais s'il vous plaît, si vous savez comment parler en anglais – mon ami n'est pas français, il ne le comprend pas très bien,"_ Arthur replied easily.

_"Ouais, d'accord."_ The waitress smiled at Cobb, who returned one while switching his gaze between the waitress, Arthur, and Ariadne. The waitress tucked her hair behind her ear and said in a thick French accent, "What can I get you three?"

"I'll just have coffee," said Cobb. "If it isn't too much trouble."

"Same," said Ariadne quickly.

Arthur inwardly rolled his eyes – they even _drank_ the same thing. He smiled up at the waitress and said, "I'll get a plate of croissants for this table. Also, some French toast for the young lady here."

The point man glanced at Ariadne as she flushed scarlet and stared at the table. Cobb cleared his throat and Arthur turned to find the extractor's narrowed, aqua eyes occupied in a hard stare, directed at Arthur himself.

The waitress left to fulfill their requests for food, and Arthur's cell burst into song as soon as she disappeared through the crowd of loud, mingling French sailors and fishermen. Caller ID was the only way Arthur could tell who it was and he was thankful for it. "Eames," said Arthur through gritted teeth as Eames barked a laugh over the line – that annoying, talented, British forger. Arthur hated him.

_"Arthur! Hello, darling."_

"What do you want?" Arthur questioned, frowning at the phone. Across from him, Cobb began speaking to Ariadne in a low voice.

_"I'm staying in Mombasa for a little longer than I planned. You said you had a job?"_

"There's no need for you, Eames," said Arthur tightly.

_"Stubborn as always."_

"Screw you."

"Ariadne," said Cobb loudly, avoiding Arthur's gaze and tapping the architect on the shoulder. "Let's leave Arthur to his discussion for a second and while we wait for the food, we can discuss some more possible designs. Outside."

As Ariadne began to lift from her seat, Cobb shot a pointed look at Arthur and the point man smirked.

_"Anyway, if there's any need for me – come to Mombasa, darling. I'll probably be losing some money,"_ said Eames, his tone smug and mocking.

"Hold on just one second, Eames," said Arthur, taking the phone away from his ear. Cobb and Ariadne were nearly exiting the café. "Cobb! Come back."

Cobb made his way toward the table and frowned. "Arthur, keep talking to Eames, it's fine. I'll just clear some things up with Ariadne."

"Don't take too long, though," said Arthur. "The food will come soon and we need to start heading back. That's all I wanted to say."

Cobb's lips thinned and he glanced over his shoulder to Ariadne, who was waiting patiently at the entrance of the café. The extractor sighed and gave an apologetic look to Arthur. "Alright. I'll be right back."

* * *

He knew why he was doing this and he didn't at the same time. No, he wasn't going to tell her he knew her. If he did she would leave. That was inevitable, and he didn't want her to leave.

_Why don't you? _A voice inside him whispered as Cobb led Ariadne out of the café.

Why didn't he? That was a question Cobb could barely answer, and yet his answer was filled with a fog of feelings that he could hardly distinguish.

"So – " Ariadne began, furrowing her eyebrows at him as they stopped outside the café in the alley.

Cobb glanced around him before sighing. "When we get back to Paris, we're going to be working in a warehouse. It's been abandoned for a while, so no one goes looking in there. When we get back, though, I need you to refrain from telling Professor Miles about any of this while the job goes on. He doesn't know where we're working."

She bit her lip and folded her arms across her chest. Cobb could tell she didn't like this – she looked up to Miles as a father figure – but he only watched her carefully, silently begging her to go along with it.

"Why can't he know?" she asked finally.

Closing his eyes, Cobb breathed in deeply. The bustle of noises from the harbor around them only made the silence more audible. "He doesn't want me to do this," he told her.

Ariadne's eyes switched to the ground, and Cobb couldn't tell her reaction, except for the fact that her weight shifted from one foot to the other. He couldn't tell what that meant, in her case.

"As long as I won't be spending a life in the mind of a corrupt man," she said jokingly, looking back up at him. Cobb cringed inwardly but smiled at her, just as the café entrance door pushed open.

"Cobb," said Arthur, his eyebrows raised. "The food's here. Come on."

As they entered the café once more and were greeted by the numerous mugs of coffee and plates of French toast and croissants, Cobb fought against the sudden urge to demand her acceptance of the job. Surely, if she had her year of memories back from that fateful job he'd done, she would not have accepted this job so easily – but the year was locked away in the back of her mind and would be stuck there for who knew how long. Cobb picked a freshly baked, warm croissant from the basket on the center of the table and bit into it thoughtfully. If her memories of that year were gone, it meant her paranoia was absent as well. But what would happen when it arrived?

* * *

When the three of them were back in the car, a sort of unidentified agreement seemed to set itself between Arthur and Cobb: to leave everything regarding memories to Ariadne, and to not reveal anything that could possibly risk her departure.

It wasn't hard, but the looks she sent Cobb at times were daunting. He could tell that every time their eyes met she searched frantically inside herself for answers. Cobb's déjà-vu had been solved; hers, however, grew in intensity with each passing day.

Arthur, it seemed, had taken it upon himself to make certain there was something to talk about in the car ride. Perhaps it was the pressing issue of her amnesia that probed the questions, but the point man threw questions as though he were on the verge of discovering the meaning of life. "What are you studying as a major in university?" Arthur inquired out of the young architect.

"Architecture," she answered, bewildered. "Obvi – "

"Do you like it?" demanded Arthur.

"Well, yeah – " began Ariadne, her brows furrowing.

Before Cobb could reproach Arthur on his stupidity, Arthur shot a wink to the extractor and questioned Ariadne once more, "And who's your favorite architect?"

Dumbfounded, Ariadne replied, "Michael Graves…"

Arthur nodded, and Cobb could tell he was trying his best to look somewhat interested. "Is he modern?"

"Yes," said Cobb, providing some relief for the young woman in the back seat of the car. "He uses a lot of curves and simple colors."

The point man made a noise in the back of his throat but smiled in the rearview mirror. "I'm more for the tricks you can do with architecture, really."

"You can't cheat architecture," said Ariadne, her eyebrows rising.

"Just you wait," Arthur told her as he twisted the steering wheel to the left onto the nearest highway. They were on their way back to Paris. "You'll see things you've never wondered about. Mountains descending from the skies; skyscrapers built out of clouds; oceans painted from the sheer brilliance of the mind."

Her eyes flashed in excitement – Cobb could tell because it was exactly how he would act when he was younger (_"Tell me more," _he'd breathe to Miles after the professor depicted architecture in dreams) – and Ariadne's lips threatened to smile. "Tell me more," she begged, leaning closer.

"The most famous architect in a dream is always you," Cobb said softly. "You are the most revered and the most feared. You control that world. _Everything_ depends on you."

"Like a god?" she inquired.

"No," said Cobb, and Ariadne's lighted expression transformed to puzzlement. "You're the angel."

Puzzlement encased her features, but she set herself back in her seat and said no more. Arthur shot a look at Cobb as if to say, _What on Earth?_ Cobb returned his gaze to the highway and murmured, "Risen, or fallen – still an angel."

* * *

The sight of Paris could not have been more welcoming to the young architect. Ariadne reveled in the familiar buildings and the happier people. The Eiffel tower stood grandly in the distance, and Ariadne could have charged up its massive staircase if she had the opportunity; this was her home. Paris.

"Take a turn here," said Cobb to Arthur, who obliged and turned onto a smaller street, where family restaurants and cafés were at every corner. A few tall buildings at the end of the block were what Cobb motioned to and Arthur maneuvered his way to them. It was hardly two minutes later when Ariadne shot out of the car with her small bag hosting all of her clothes, ready to be back in her small studio apartment.

It occurred to her she should be thanking the two older men in the car, and she smiled at them as Cobb rolled down his window. "Tomorrow," said the extractor, "I'll pick you up at nine. You're excused from class, I've gotten you permission from Miles."

"Do you want me to start working on designs?" Ariadne asked him.

An odd look flitted across his face, covering his ocean eyes – oh, those eyes – but he shook his head.

Minutes later she was treading up the staircase (she never really liked elevators) to her apartment while fishing the sketch with the note on the back, and her keys, out of her purse. Twisting the key in her lock and opening the door, she clicked on the lights, dropping her bag at the foot of her bed and collapsing on it, holding the sketch over her.

_How inappropriate to call this planet Earth when it is quite clearly Ocean._

Ariadne let the sketch float out of her hands and onto her chest as she stared up at the ceiling.

"_You're an angel,"_ he'd said. _"Risen, or fallen – still an angel."_

Which was she? Which was _he?_

* * *

**Translations:**

**Waitress: Do you speak French?**

**Arthur: Yes, but please, if you know how to speak in English **_–_** my friend isn't French, he doesn't understand it very well.**

**Waitress: Yeah, okay.**

**I **_**really**_** wanted to prolong Cobb's recognition of Ariadne but it just wouldn't work. **

**The title of this fic will actually start to be more obvious as the chapters go on. It wasn't that obvious in these past few chapters, but it'll stop popping back as the relationship really starts to develop between Ariadne and Cobb. **

**Will you review? I really hope so :) **

**I adore ALL of you. Sticking by me is the one reason I even got this far with this story! I admit, I didn't even think I'd get this far… but I did, and it's all thanks to you guys. I LOVE YOU.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Discaimer: **If you don't know what I'm saying here… guh.

**Notes: **I don't want to seem like a review-whore, but honestly, they help me out when I'm writing. It's nice to read them, but if there's a lack, I get really uninspired. Even a simple, "I liked it!" or, "Interesting!" or even something like, "Meh, you could work on…" I'm open to anything. (But if you're just gonna randomly flame the story without giving me an acceptable reason… no.) I write fanfiction to entertain myself and others who have the same interests. However, it would be nice to get some feedback on how I do so I can improve, or what you'd like to see so I can provide more entertainment for you guys.

Anyway, here's chapter fourteen. Thanks for sticking with me :)

* * *

She dreamed farther than the ocean, this time. She dreamed of endless heights into the sky. Water swung high into the clouds at her very thought. She rode with them; she soared through the skies and clouds with the tsunamis guiding her. The soft wisps began to thunder, and shaped into a city of the sky. The streets she swam in were carved by clouds, soft and warm until she pressed against them and they hardened into streets of marble and gold.

And the people flew with her, swam in the water, walked on nothing, slept on the walls; they laughed and they talked, and yet others cried and screamed. She swam farther with the wave and watched as the clouds hardened and darkened, thundering viciously and beginning to sob violently, pelting drops of rain and balls of hail. Cloaked in black, the people flew through some of the still wispy clouds, allowing them to blacken and mourn. Riding the wave to a cloud, she sifted through it and watched as the cloud began to brighten and separate into smaller and whiter cotton.

The waves took her throughout the city of hardened clouds, both dark and light, from people flying cloaked in snow to those who swam in deep pools of onyx. There was laughter, and there were screams; there was a young girl decked in robes painted with pearls, and there was a woman suited in a flaring gown of shadows, clinging onto her husband, who was sporting robes of silvery, smoky silk and looking on at the little girl with sad eyes, yet gripping the arm of his wife tightly.

With each passing second, the robes of the man turned darker and darker. Smoke turned to dusk, dusk to twilight, and twilight to never ending ash. And he let go of his wife's arm, pulling away, and his robes began to lighten; ash to twilight, twilight to dusk, and dusk still to smoke; he made his way to the young girl when his wife latched onto him once more, and his robes shadowed.

"Leave him be!" she called out to the wife, swimming through her wave to get closer. "You're holding him back!"

The wife turned her eyes on her, bright blue, piercing eyes that seemed to cut through the soul.

Still, she would not leave the poor man to deal with this terrible shadow. "Get away from her!"

But he didn't hear her.

"Hey! Are you listening? Get away!"

Lifeless, he remained a statue and watched the little girl, graced with blonde, flowing hair against the middle of her back, decked in pearly robes; she called again. "Please – get away from her!"

The second his eyes turned onto her, she was suddenly taken into the tsunami that carried her through the streets and came pelting back to the ocean, far beneath the city of the skies. The feeling of falling screamed through her stomach and into her mind, and she began to suffocate. Through the warped skies she could see from beneath the waves, the man flew down to her, held out his hand, but with trouble, as his wife held tightly on his neck; attempting to grab his hand before the tsunami collapsed onto the ocean below, she missed by millimeters and the man's eyes – if they could – saddened even further.

And there were more soaring toward her as she drowned within the mold of the tsunami. They held out their hands, cloaked within robes of burning white, opening their mouths and shrilling calls of aid.

The sensation of falling and drowning engulfed her just as she slammed into the surface of the ocean.

And Ariadne opened her eyes, straining to see through the blinding sunlight that beamed through her windows. The shrilling continued to ring through her ears, until she spotted her cell phone's brightened screen on her bedside table, and she reached for it with a weak arm.

"Hi," she said hoarsely into the phone, her throat parched dry from the sleep.

"_Ariadne!"_ said the serious voice of the point man, Arthur. _"Did I wake you?" _

"Oh," said Ariadne, rubbing her eyes tiredly with her free hand and sitting up on her bed. "Um – yeah, but it's okay." She glanced at the alarm clock. "Cobb said nine, right?"

Arthur was silent for a small while. _"He can't pick you up today," _he said simply. _"He didn't get a wink of sleep. I'll pick you up instead."_

After a few more minutes of going over the plan for her lessons in dream sharing, she hung up and began to dress. It was only a moment later when she threw on a tank top and a jacket, slipped into a pair of jeans, and wrapped a thin, scarlet scarf loosely around her neck. Today was going to be a turning point day, she knew it. Something was going to happen – that dream she'd had was definitely a clue.

Grabbing her keys and her purse from her small kitchen table, she quickly left her studio apartment and rapidly descended the stairs to the lobby. It was grey outside, dreary and touched with a slight bit of chill, but half the time Paris was like that. Stepping outside the lobby she quickly examined the people walking slowly to their destinations, some making their way over to the small cafés at the corners of the blocks, others heading toward the small bookstore just beside her apartment building.

Approximately five minutes later (and with her flipping through a book she'd picked at the bookstore) Arthur called her. _"I'm right outside,"_ he said, and Ariadne put the book away, going back outside to find the point man waving a hand at her from her apartment building.

"So why couldn't Cobb pick me up?" inquired Ariadne as she placed her phone back in her purse, smiling at Arthur.

Arthur shrugged nonchalantly, clearing his throat. "Like I said, he's had a rough night's sleep. I offered to pick you up, and he really didn't have the heart to object." He pulled open the door to the passenger's side of the car and let Ariadne climb in.

Ariadne buckled herself into her seat and watched as Arthur slid into the driver's seat beside her. She hated to admit it – admit it? Why would she hate to admit it? – but she was disappointed. For some reason she had been looking forward to Cobb picking her up. Arthur began to pull out of the parking spot and drive to their destination, and Ariadne regarded the way he turned the wheel and glanced in the side view mirrors to make his lane changes; his hands gripped the wheels completely opposite from each other on the sides of the wheel tightly, he sat straight in his seat, he turned on the heat with careful precision – god. He was nice, he seemed intellectual enough but good lord. Every move was calculated.

To pass the time, she decided on a sort of game. "So. Arthur, have you ever had any girlfriends?"

"Yes," he said calmly.

"They nice?"

"Nice enough." He shrugged. "Cobb always hinted them out to me, back when my parents died – " No sort of reaction there. " – and I went out with them for a couple months. Things just wouldn't work out and I stood aside from relationships after a few jobs I had with Cobb, especially one I had in Paris a few years back." He sat silently after that.

Ariadne's eyebrows rose, but she wanted to keep going. "Cobb suggested girls to you?"

"Yeah," said Arthur. "After my parents died, he took me under his wing. Not like my father, but more like an older brother. He teased me sometimes and helped me out. We got into a lot of arguments but they always worked out. He always looked out for my wellbeing." He gave a short laugh. "Back when we were both younger, I still in high school and Cobb in college, the women _loved_ him. But he only had eyes for one and he directed all the others to me. Girls in my school always asked me to give him messages, to set up 'tutoring dates' so they would be with him more."

"And he only had eyes for one?" Ariadne questioned, her interest suddenly piqued.

"Yeah," said Arthur. He was quiet before he added, "After a long while, though, the two of them were separated."

"Oh." The architect sat in her seat with her eyes on the crowded French scenery around her. "Things just didn't work out, then."

"You could say that," said Arthur in a softer tone. He turned onto a large road and began driving at a moderate speed down to the end of the block. Observing his hands and how they gripped the wheel so _perfectly,_ Ariadne smiled to herself and asked, "So, did Cobb ever suggest any men out to you?"

Arthur's hands slipped off the wheel and he served to the right, nearly crashing into a poor driver headed the opposite direction. "No! No!" spluttered Arthur. "Of course not! Why would you – ?" He righted himself and shot her a glare.

Triumphant, Ariadne leaned back into her seat. She'd completely surprised him and won her little game only she was playing.

"That was evil," said Arthur.

Ariadne laughed at him.

* * *

She found herself in a very empty warehouse, just standing in the middle as Arthur pulled up two armchairs and an old plastic table, the kind found at cheap patio barbeques. And out of nowhere, a metal, silver shining briefcase clanged onto its surface.

"What's that?" Ariadne asked him.

"It's called a PASIV device," Arthur replied, setting a hand on the closed briefcase. "It's what lets us go into dreams."

"Passive?" she parroted, frowning.

"It stands for 'Portable Automated Somnacin Intra Venous,'" Arthur explained. Oh. _PASIV._ "Hi, Cobb," added the point man.

Ariadne twisted around to see the extractor walking into the warehouse, looking exhausted. "Hello, Arthur, Ariadne," he acknowledged, with a twitch of his lips.

"Feeling better?" asked Ariadne.

Cobb watched her blankly for a second before saying, "Yes. Yes. I feel better. Sorry about not picking you up. I hope you and Arthur got acquainted in the meanwhile?"

Ariadne shot a wicked grin at the point man and in return, Arthur shook his head.

"I take it that you did," said Cobb. He rested his eyes longer on her than she would have liked, and she began to feel uncomfortable.

Ariadne was about to ask Cobb what was so interesting when he suddenly cursed. "I forgot my wallet." He patted his pockets, lips thinning.

"Cobb?" called Arthur, who'd moved quickly to the storage room in the back of the warehouse. "Did you put these water bottles in here?"

Cobb nodded, before seeming to realize Arthur couldn't see him and said aloud, "Yeah. Just in case we really had a work out or something."

There was a slight chuckle from the storage room.

Suddenly, Ariadne's parched throat stung and she blinked painfully. She was so thirsty. So, _so_ thirsty. Licking her lips, she sat down on one of the patio chairs and looked around, trying to avoid the sudden need for a glass of water.

"Arthur, bring a water bottle," said Cobb suddenly. Great, he was going to flaunt his water right in front of her.

Arthur wandered out of the storage room with a water bottle, tossing it to Cobb. The bottle sailed through the air and Cobb caught it smoothly around the middle with one hand.

"Drink it."

He was handing Ariadne the water bottle.

"What?" Ariadne asked, looking up at him. If it hadn't been for her doubt about him really being serious, she would have snatched the bottle and devoured it. The dream she'd had this past night, with the ocean – she took another long look at him and his sea colored eyes, an odd sensation sifting through her chest – had made her terribly disconcerted. She needed that water.

"Drink it," said Cobb. "You look tired and thirsty. A little water will do you some good, and a little rest too. Then we'll get to your lesson."

She took it from him and ripped the top off. It came off easily, as if it were open before, but she really didn't care, and she downed the water greedily. It was amazing. Cobb and Arthur shared an amused look, and then it turned into Cobb nodding his head ever slightly, and she placed the water bottle down on the floor of the warehouse. She was _so_ tired now. Her vision blurred just as Arthur moved up to the cheap patio table and clicked open the suitcase.

Maybe, she'd take a nap…

* * *

Someone was talking to her. Ariadne blinked, adjusting to the scene around her and nodding at whatever the voice was saying. Who was that? Was it – yes, it was. She was sitting at a French café with Cobb, him dressed in his usual simple jacket and button down navy shirt with slacks, and her with her red jacket, scarf, and tank top. Each of them had a mug in front of them. Coffee. His was black.

"… now, that's when we're awake," he was saying, regarding her with his brows furrowed. She quickly tuned in and attempted to listen. He was teaching her now. "When we're asleep," he continued, "our mind can do almost anything."

Ariadne gripped onto her coffee mug and brought it up. "Such as?"

His eyes shone in the shadow of the tarp above the café. "Imagine you're designing a building," he said, placing his own coffee mug onto the table.

Well, that was easy. An image of a basic, ten story building appeared in her mind, with tall glass walls and four elevators, one at every corner so it looked as if the building's edged were about to collapse, appeared in her mind.

Cobb was still talking, making small motions with his hands. "… where I can subconsciously create each aspect. But sometimes, it feels like it's almost creating itself, if you know what I mean."

She was nodding before he was done with his point. "Yeah, like I'm… discovering it." She rubbed her neck as he watched her with startling ocean eyes.

"Genuine inspiration, right?" He nodded slightly, reaching into his pocket. Ariadne watched as he did so, and he pulled out a pen. "Now in a dream," Cobb continued, seeming to draw on a paper she had never noticed before, "our mind continuously does this. We create – " Here, he drew on arrow curving as if it were the top half of a circle, " – and perceive – " he drew the bottom half as another arrow, reaching up to finish the circle on the dull end of the first arrow, but touching it, " – our world _simultaneously_, and our mind does this _so well_ that we don't even know it's happening."

Cobb drew a line between the two halves. "That allows us to get right in the middle of that process."

"How?" inquired Ariadne, her eyebrows rising as she searched his face. He had a very slight amused look on his features, and he turned to her fully. "By taking over the creating part, now this is where I need _you."_

Tilting her head forward, she motioned for him to go on. Cobb looked around them before smiling ever so slightly. "You create the world of the dream. You bring the subject into that dream, and they fill it with their subconscious," he said. As he spoke, Ariadne leaned back into her chair, watching him in awe.

"How could I ever… _acquire_ enough _detail_ to make them think that it's reality?" she asked, frowning at him, and at the same time willing with every fiber of her being that he told her more.

Cobb tilted his head and regarded her with a look she couldn't quite place. "Well, dreams," he started, his eyes latching on to hers, "feel real while we're in them, right?" Cobb's eyebrows rose as he gestured with a couple of glances to around them to make his point. "It's only when we wake up that we realize something was actually strange."

Ariadne watched as he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. Had she ever talked to him for this long before? His voice was beginning to nudge at something in her mind but she couldn't quite exactly tell.

"Let me ask you a question," he said, regarding her carefully. "You never really remember the beginning of a dream, do you? You always wind up right in the middle of what's going on."

She swayed her head a little bit while thinking about it, before nodding and saying, "I guess, yeah."

Something flashed through his eyes, and he jerked his head to signify their surroundings. "So how did we end up here?"

"Well, we just came from the, uh…" Crap. Where _did _they come from?

"Think about it, Ariadne," he said quietly, leaning close, and she could suddenly see the green flecks within his irises. She nearly forgot the question as he breathed, "How did you get _here?_ Where are you right now?"

She swept her eyes over the café, before turning to the street and watching as people mingled and went about their own businesses. It couldn't be. Was she really – ?

"We're _dreaming?"_ she breathed, looking at him incredulously.

The corners of his lips quirked upward before returning to a neutral expression as he whispered right back, "You're actually in the middle of the workshop right now, sleeping. This is your first lesson in shared dreaming. _Stay calm."_

Right after he said that, the mugs of coffee began to tremble and she backed away into her chair, starting to feel uncomfortable. He leaned closer still, and she could see her reflection in his pupils.

There was an explosion right behind him, and yet he seemed unfazed; the newspaper stand burst into pieces, and the papers flew around every which way, then seeming to slow down in midair as though freezing in time. Other explosions followed mercilessly and yet Cobb still watched her, her reflection shining within his eyes, and she looked around, trying to still her trembling hands. Cobb sat motionlessly, his eyes roaming her face for her reaction before shifting to her hands, which pressed against her thighs in an attempt to keep them from shaking. Reaching over, he took her left hand in his right one and immediately, she seemed to calm down as the café tables burst into large splinters of wood, and the large pieces immediately burst into smaller pieces that poked her skin.

Cobb kept a tight grip on her hand as she watched the pieces of wood float by her, unmoving. The sounds of the explosions seemed to echo, and she heard a rhythm behind it, as if it were a song. The buildings all around her burst into pieces of concrete, and the road's firmly pressed stone tablets shot into the sky.

He was still watching her, as if daring her to move as he kept his hand wrapped tightly around hers. She sat as still as possible, only watching bits of paper and wood slow in front of her very eyes.

And then Cobb began to hunch over, closing his eyes and tightening his hold on her hand, if that were even possible. "If it's just a dream – " she called out to him, for the explosions were too loud to be heard if talking normally, " – then why are you – " And a piercing pain shot through her left cheek as bits of glass tore into her skin.

Her eyes shot open, and the first thing she noticed was the lack of his strong grip on her left hand.

"Because it's never _just_ a dream, is it," said Cobb, who sat up in another patio chair, watching her carefully. Edith Piaf's _Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien_ filled the workshop and Ariadne slowly took in her surroundings, recognizing Arthur, who stood in front of the PASIV device and fiddled with the wires.

"A face full of glass hurts like hell. When you're in it," Cobb continued, looking down into his lap and then back at her as she took in large, deep breaths and staring out blankly in front of her, "it feels real."

"It's why the military developed dream sharing as a training program for soldiers to shoot, stab, and strangle each other, and then wake up," added Arthur, turning toward her and slipping his hands in his pockets.

"How did architects become involved?" inquired Ariadne, switching her questioning gaze between him and Cobb.

"Someone had to design the dreams, right?" Cobb shot a question to answer her own, smiling slightly at her. There was a pause, and then Cobb told Arthur, "Why don't you give us another five minutes?"

Arthur moved back toward the PASIV device. Stunned, Ariadne looked at Cobb in bewilderment. "Five minutes? What – we were talking for, like – at least an hour!"

"In a dream, your mind functions more quickly, therefore time seems to feel more slow," he said, leaning back into the patio chair and fixing a needle from the PASIV device into his wrist.

"Five minutes in the real world gives you an hour in the dream," Arthur said, giving her an example.

"Why don't you see what you can get up to in five minutes," Cobb told her as she slowly turned to face him. Ariadne nodded weakly and took the needle that had fallen from her wrist, pressing it back into her skin once more. Cobb nodded at Arthur, and the point man pressed the PASIV device's injection activation trigger down. She breathed deeply as the Somnacin soared into her veins.

"You've got the basic layout. Bookstore, café, almost everything else is here too." Cobb walked a few steps behind her as she crossed down the stone tablet road, her mind adjusting to the surroundings. "Who're the people?" she asked him, watching as all kinds of different people walked around her, going about their daily lives.

"Projections of my subconscious."

"Yours?"

"Yes. Remember, you are the dreamer. You build this world. I am the subject, my mind populates it. You can literally talk to my subconscious, that's one of the ways we extract information from the subject."

"How else do you do it?" she inquired, still walking through the dream's streets.

"By creating something secure, like a… like a bank vault, or a jail." She could, without facing him, already tell he was slowing down. "The mind automatically fills it with information it's trying to protect."

She stopped, watching a biker pedal by, not paying the least attention to her whatsoever. "Understand?" Cobb asked her.

Ariadne slowly faced him, nodding. "Then you break in and steal it."

He grinned mischievously and for once, she felt completely at ease with all of this. She could completely get used to wandering through dreams with him. And reality, too.

"Well," he said, still grinning, and didn't go on.

She started to walk forward once more, and Cobb trailed behind her. "Do you like it so far?" he asked her.

"It's beautiful," she answered. "It's so real."

"Watch yourself," he warned, coming up to walk beside her. "That's the wrong thing to say."

Ariadne came up to the sidewalk and placed her hand on the brick wall. The only sound, for a while, was that of the people wandering aimlessly around her and Cobb taking slow steps to where she was.

"Why is it?" she asked, mainly to herself. Still, Cobb halted behind her. "Why is it that _this_ is where I'm supposed to be?"

It was like she didn't even have to search anymore. Dreams, oh, the wonder of dreams! How she could have possibly not known about something so beautiful ever before was beyond her – everything was just as the extractor had described. _She _was the creator of this world. She controlled everything!

Cobb moved beside her, taking her hand and dropping it gently by her side. "Ariadne," he repeated. "Watch yourself."

She didn't question him, instead turning around and pulling herself away from him, continuing to walk down the sidewalk. Cobb was unmoving behind her for a couple of seconds before following her.

Pursing her lips, she stared at the people walking around her who paid her no mind. What wasn't he telling her? She had a faint feeling that he'd done this before.

Behind her, Cobb said, "So now, you see, dreams still require a great amount of thought. It's not just what you see."

"I guess I thought that the dream space would be all about the visual, but…" She trailed off, still making her way through the small crowds of people roaming the sidewalks. "It's more about the feel of it. _My _question is, what happens when you start messing with the physics of it all?"

And Ariadne came to a stop as a deep rumbling started a ways down from her, further down the small city. Cobb halted right behind her and followed her gaze.

The city began to bend, like rubber. The only difference was it creaked and creaked and creaked, folding over itself as slowly as rubber would stretch, as though it were about to snap. Ariadne's eyebrow rose and she followed the movements of the bending city as her mind tried to process the logic in what was happening – which, of course, was not possible. She gave up after a second of it and in wonder, regarded the people on the part of the city that was bending over – they gave no heed to the odd tilt of their world.

And the city clicked into place right above their heads; like a puzzle, every building fit into place with their corresponding buildings on Ariadne and Cobb's side. There was a clang, and the city halted in its folding.

"It's something, isn't it," she breathed.

"Yes, it is," Cobb agreed, looking up at the city above them with awed eyes.

She began walking determinedly to the end of the block, where the city streets rose up at a ninety degree angle, like a wall. Cobb came to her side as she reached it and stepped onto the wall (street, whatever it was). And together, they made their way throughout the streets, quickly adjusting to the bizarre feel.

It wasn't until Ariadne came back onto the sidewalk of the tilted street that she began to feel uncomfortable. The people around her were staring in a hostile fashion, and she felt immensely out of place. "Why are they all looking at me?"

"'Cause my subconscious feels that someone else is creating in this world," said Cobb, who was, once more, several steps behind her. "The more you change things, the quicker the projections start to converge on you."

"Converge?" she parroted, glancing back at him.

Cobb nodded. "They sense the foreign nature of the dreamer. They attack like white blood cells fighting an infection."

"What – they're going to _attack_ us?" she said incredulously.

"No," said Cobb. There was a breath of silence. And then he added, "Just you."

As Ariadne walked, she built. It was addicting, the way she could create in the blink of an eye. _Snap!_ There, over there, was a new fountain, with glorious curves all around its height. _Snap!_ An arch that spread for half a mile wide. _Snap!_ The grandest cathedral she had ever been able to imagine. _Snap!_ A bridge with columns mounting around it, leading to a small square where people could gather.

"This is great, but I'm _telling_ you, if you keep changing things like this – " Cobb began from behind her, his voice tinged with alarm. She ignored him. Nothing could go wrong if she kept building.

As soon as she started walking on the bridge projections slammed into her violently. One glared at her with burning eyes, as hot as red iron, but still making her way to her destination. "Mind telling your subconscious to take it easy?" Ariadne dodged another projection who found it suitable to try and knock her off the bridge.

"It's my subconscious," said Cobb matter-of-factly. "Remember, I can't control it."

They came to the square, and Ariadne stared at it for a second. What could she do with it? She could build a palace. She could make a path to the ocean. Hell, she could build a staircase descending to the heavens. Or, she could build… a way back to where she felt most at home. Her university. The bridge she crossed every day to the university.

She stepped to her left, toward a giant mirror with a handle on the side. Cobb moved behind her to the center of the square; she could feel his sea-colored eyes carefully examining her movements, wondering what she was doing. Well. She'd surprise him.

Ariadne pulled the mirror into place against a column, and then whirled around to pull a similar mirror on the other side of the square closed against the one other column. During all of this Cobb kept his eyes on her and the mirrors. Excitement washed through her like a wave, but she kept a straight face and put her hand on the mirror.

_Crack! _And with a loud, ringing shatter, the mirror split into a thousand tiny fractured pieces and dropped to the square's floor. In front of her, in place of the edge of the square overlooking a river, was a bridge leading all the way to her university, with more projections making their way across the long pathway.

Smiling, Ariadne moved forward.

"Very impressive," said Cobb faintly from behind her. A feeling sparked through her chest at his words – _yes, yes, I deserve those words, knowing all those years you'd hidden from me – _wait. Where had that come from?

Her ears tuned to Cobb's footsteps. Oddly enough, he halted, stayed still for a moment, then began to walk forward quickly. "I _know _this bridge. This place is real, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I cross it every day to get to the college," she called back.

"Never recreate places from your memory, always imagine new places!"

"You gotta draw from stuff you know, right?" she retorted, glancing around. Yes. This bridge felt like home.

"Only use details, a – a streetlamp or a phone booth, never entire areas!" He was getting more and more frantic.

"Why not?"

"Because building a dream from your memory is the _easiest way _tolose your grasp on what is reality and _what is a dream!"_

He was nearing her. His step sizes had become so large, he was breathing over her shoulder. "Is that what happened to you?" she shot back.

His hand latched onto her arm. _Shit. That hurt._ "_Listen to me –_ this has _nothing to do with me_, you understand?"

"Is that why you need me to build your dreams?"

The flash in Cobb's eyes made it very obvious that that was the wrong thing to say. Before he could get any angrier at her disobedience, a projection moved threateningly toward them, eager to destroy. Ariadne realized with a start that a crowd of hostile people had gathered around them, each with a glare two times as frightening as the last, and all determined to kill her.

"Get off of her," said Cobb, shoving the projection away.

More began to converge and squeeze into their space. Cobb spread his arms protectively over her, to no avail; the projections pulled his arms away and gripped onto Ariadne, as though about to tear her apart. "Back up – " Cobb ordered, but none of the projections seemed to take heed. "_Back up!"_

"_Cobb!"_ she screamed, reaching for him.

He was pulled away by his own subconscious, still screaming: "_Get off of her!"_

"_COBB! COBB!" _They had her by her arms now, pulling her hair – _Cobb – wake me up! "LET ME GO! LET ME GO!"_

"_MAL!"_

_Mal?_

"_COBB!"_

"_MAL," _screamed Cobb. "_MAL! MAL, NO!"_

"_COBB! WAKE ME UP – WAKE ME UP!"_

And there was a woman stalking toward them like a lioness. With a knife in her hand. Eyes set only on Ariadne. _Surely_ this wasn't part of his subconscious? She was too real – _she was real – _

"_WAKE ME UP! WAKE ME UP!"_

"_NO," _Cobb implored, struggling furiously against his subconscious' hold. _"MAL – !"_

"_WAKE ME UP – !"_

And the woman's knife pierced through her stomach just as the barriers of the dream – along with the barriers of her own mind – crumbled all around her, feeling as though a gallon of venom had been injected into her mind. _Mal._

* * *

**This is by far the **_**longest chapter I have done. Ever.**_** Oh golly gee. I think my mind just broke. **

**I know it was mostly movie scenes in here, but hey, I'm incorporating this into the movie.**

**Reviews would be _fantastic. _I love you all! **


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: **Well gee. Inception belongs to Christopher Nolan, guys.

**Notes: **Okay, maybe I did seem like a review-whore. Haha! Never mind. I'll continue writing, no worries. I actually want to keep going with this so… review if possible, but I'm not gonna be a jerk about it. :) Thanks for the reviews anyway, guys!

* * *

It was like watching himself, only younger, prettier, and female.

And screaming in absolute agony.

The knife pierced through her stomach, emerging from her back soaked in blood and Ariadne's eyes turned lifeless as she slumped over onto the figure of Mal, who turned her flashing eyes at him, hissing, "_How dare you!"_

Cobb watched helplessly as she stalked toward him and pulled his ear toward her mouth. "_Chérie,"_ she whispered with her intricate French tongue, "She is _not welcome here!"_

Cobb lunged out of his subconscious' grasp and toward the architect, whose blood-caked mouth was frozen in the process of screaming, _"WAKE ME UP!"_ and he pulled the knife out of her stomach and straight into his.

His eyes shot open and he took in the air of the warehouse. Arthur was kneeling by Ariadne's chair. The architect was gasping in fear and trembling as Arthur pulled the needle from her wrist. "Because there was still some time on the clock," said the point man gently, "and you can't wake up from within the dream unless you die."

"She'll need a totem," Cobb said tightly, rising up from his chair, shaking slightly as he fumbled for his pocket.

"What?" gasped Ariadne, gaping at him, ignoring Arthur's glances at her.

"Totem," said Arthur, ever the dictionary, "it's a small – "

"That's some subconscious you got on you, Cobb!" Ariadne called angrily after him, her voice breaking. He continued off into the other part of the warehouse, moving quickly. "She's a real _charmer!"_

Cobb's mind whirled. Could it be – ? No. No, she couldn't.

He spun his top on a surface and began to feel nervous, as he always did. It looked real – but Mal, how could he truly know –

"Oh," said Arthur knowingly in the other room. "I see you've met Mrs. Cobb."

"She's his _wife?"_ There. There it was again, that tone –

The top spun and spun. _Come on! _Cobb pleaded anxiously. _Fall – fall – fall, dammit – _

"Yeah. So, a totem." Arthur's voice was soft, but it was still audible from the other room. "You need a small object, potentially heavy, something you can have on you all the time. No one else knows."

"What, like a coin?" Ariadne said tersely, drawing in deep breaths.

"No, it needs to be more unique than that."

_Fall – fall – _

"This is a loaded die," said Arthur.

There was silence from the other room, broken by the top's incessant spinning on the table.

"I can't let you touch it, that would defeat the purpose," said Arthur. "See, only I know the balance and weight of this particular loaded die. That way when you look at _your_ totem, you know without a doubt that you're not in someone else's dream."

The top tilted to the left, wobbled dangerously, and skidded around to a stop. Snatching it into his hands, Cobb breathed in deeply and shut his eyes.

"I – I don't know if you _can't see_ what's going on, or if you just don't want to, but Cobb has some _serious problems_ that he's trying to bury down there and I'm not about to just _open my mind_ to someone like that!" And there it was. That tone again. Where had he heard that before?

Cobb moved back into the room where Arthur was in time to see Ariadne push herself off the chair and march off without another word, the waves of fury radiating from her like the Sun's light rays. The door shut decidedly behind her, but the effect was obvious.

"She'll be back," Cobb told Arthur. "I've never seen anyone pick it up that quickly before."

Arthur looked at him, bemused.

"Reality's not going to be enough for her now. When she comes back… when she comes back, you're going to have her building mazes," continued Cobb, looking around.

"Where're you gonna be?" inquired Arthur.

"I gotta go visit Eames."

"Eames?" Arthur said, slightly incredulous. "No, he's in Mombasa. That's Cobol's backyard." The warning was obvious: if Cobb went there, there was an immense risk he would be taken into Cobol's custody.

"Necessary risk," said Cobb, moving past the point man.

He could feel Arthur's stare on his back. "There's plenty of good thieves," Arthur told him.

"We don't just need a thief," said Cobb, shrugging on his jacket. "We need a forger." And with that he left Arthur standing in the middle of the empty warehouse, who was fiddling with wires from the PASIV device and murmuring to himself, "Why do I even try?"

* * *

Fuck him! _Fuck him!_

With trembling hands, she burst into her apartment and headed straight for her bathroom, nearly blacking out as her mind seethed and raged until she could hardly comprehend herself. _CRASH!_ Her fist was in her mirror before she understood what she was doing, and she screamed, "_FUCK YOU, DOM COBB!"_

"_Dreams, dreams, dreams! The wonder of dreams!" _

_CRASH! _Her other fist in her mirror. His voice was haunting.

"_You have no right to question me of my personal life."_

_CRASH!_ She had cuts on her knuckles now.

"_I said things couldn't go wrong anymore, but they did. And I can't help myself. I'm wondering about things I shouldn't be wondering about."_

_CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!_ Her mirror was shattered beyond repair. Shit. Her hands hurt like hell.

Ariadne slumped over her sink and stared at her red rimmed eyes in the cracked mirror, her hair in disarray, cradling her face, locks falling over her eyes.

And then, with wild abandon, she tore her jacket apart, searching desperately through her pockets for that one sketch – there, there it was. She nearly ripped it while unfolding the paper and staring at the sketch of the buildings and oceans, and she flipped it around.

_How inappropriate to call this planet Earth when it is quite clearly Ocean._

_A quote by Arthur C. Clark. Even if you've forgotten one world, there's always another. That's why there's the ocean, an escape from reality when you need it._

_DC_

She choked back a sob and crumpled the sketch in her hand, leaning against her bathroom door and sliding down to the tiled floor. She was helpless. Helpless. She had never felt helpless before. And it was _all _his fault!

Her mind felt as though it were exploding. All that was in her head was Mal. _Mal Cobb._ They'd actually gotten married. She could remember her like it was yesterday. She could remember _everything _as though it were yesterday. When the knife had slammed into her in the dream, the barriers in her mind were penetrated and crumbled away – and she was filled with memories that had been hidden from her for an entire year, even strategies she had learned in Miles' classes, even little activities she'd done with friends outside of class, even that _ridiculous_ train ride, even _Alexander Cross._

To _hell_ with Dominic Cobb!

To _hell_ with dreaming!

To _hell_ with the incessant, annoying voice inside herself, completely resisting her rational mind!

She stalked out of her room and covered her face with her hands. The incredible feeling of defying every law in reality was still stuck with her, unwilling to go away even though her mind had essentially grown one year older – good _God,_ she had the biggest migraine – and she felt her eyes begin to tear.

Why? Why was she crying? Was it because she was so furious at him that it was nearly inexplicable? Was it because she, somehow, wanted to go back? Or was it the feeling that Cobb had somehow gotten married – which was bound to have happened – to Mal, who had always been somewhat off when she had known her?

Was she disappointed?

The train ride from four years back began to appear before her eyes, and she bit her cheeks to numb out the sudden delusional, incredible feeling that she had been forced to relive something very foreboding. Yet, even as she thought about it, she couldn't help but reminisce about the longing still remaining inside of her; the same longing she'd had even when she hadn't actually been sharing dreams.

The only thing was that now, it was ten times more intense. Ariadne went back into her bathroom and stared at the shattered mirror, and feeling very much the same inside herself – fragmented in her choices. The burning on her hands brought her back to reality, and she washed them, applying some medicinal cream and wrapping them up with bandages. She wouldn't go back for now. How long would she be able to keep it up without feeling as though something were lacking in her life?

* * *

It was Monday when Ariadne came back to school, and Miles could tell something was terribly, terribly different with her.

"Good morning, Ariadne," said Miles.

Ariadne turned blank eyes on him and answered, "Hello, Professor."

Seventeen years ago. Seventeen. He was transported almost immediately in his mind seventeen years ago when Dominic Cobb entered his lecture hall with the same blank eyes, and the ever growing lack of interest in basic, realistic architecture. "Good morning, Dom," Miles remembered telling him. _"Hello, Professor," _Cobb had said in a very tired voice, observing his dull surroundings and very obviously wishing he was back somewhere else, plugged into a PASIV device.

So, Ariadne had finally been taken into the dream world.

"Ariadne."

She turned around and gave him an odd look. "Yes?" She asked with a tight voice. At least the blank look had dissipated somewhat.

"You've gone in already," said Miles sadly.

"How could you tell?" she inquired moodily, slapping her things down in front of her seat – no one was here yet, and she was always early, anyway.

Miles gave a slight wistful smile. "You're unsatisfied. Dom looked the same exact way when he – "

"Please don't talk to me about him," she said snappishly, plopping down in her seat and resting her head in her hands.

Oh, dear. He hadn't been expecting that. Perhaps they'd had a disagreement – it was normal for them, after all, ever since her and Cobb had met years ago for that sort of spark shift between them every time they were with one another. But it was odd how it was so visible how bothered she was. How on Earth could she have gotten so disturbed by one dream experience?

"Professor," began Ariadne, just as students began filling in for the class, "you know how sometimes you walk into a room, but you've completely forgotten why you went there?"

"Yes, that happens quite often for me now," said Miles, unsure where she was going with this point.

"Well, it was like that for me everyday, sort of, like I was unconscious about it." She paused as a classmate sat in a seat to her right. "But you know what? I finally remembered why I went."

Oh… _dear._

"It was terrifying," she continued, her tone heating up as she did, and her classmate to her right gave her a condescending look, as if telling her to shut up, yet Ariadne went on. "You know how sometimes something just… reminds you?"

"Ariadne, afterschool," said Miles quietly, watching the lecture hall beginning to fill with more and more college students; quite a few had heard her and were now listening and hanging tightly to her every word.

"No, I want to get this out _now,_ sir," said Ariadne, her eyes narrowing. "You know, I have an _internship – "_ Understandably, the word was strained, " – with this man and it's really quite discouraging how I don't learn the truth about what's really happening. At this rate, I don't think I can trust working with him."

"With who?" questioned Ariadne's classmate to her right interestedly.

And then Ariadne seemed to cool off just a bit, realizing the harm in bringing Cobb's name up even remotely.

"No one, just one of Professor Miles' old students," Ariadne corrected herself. She turned to Miles. "Afterschool, then? And do you have some first aid ointment?"

Bewildered, Miles nodded, and went to the front of the lecture hall to begin his lesson for the day.

* * *

Cobb had been planning for a while to come back to the university and tell Miles how he'd been doing – somewhat, not too many details – on the job, but now he felt he had to deliver another message before he left for Mombasa to pick up Eames. Walking through the halls took him back to four years ago, when he'd been assigned to picking Mal up – the guilt washed through him at the thought of her – and he'd gone and run into Ariadne. She'd been so much like him. Still was, in quite a few ways.

Reaching the lecture hall, which was devoid of any students because it was afterhours for classes now, he carefully opened the door and halted. Miles was at his desk with Ariadne across from him, slumped over the desk with her head tilted to the side, and her eyes instantly connected with his.

He said the first thing that came to his head. "I'm sorry."

* * *

**Short this time, but I wanted to get this through. Ariadne seems a little OOC. I know. However, wouldn't you kind of feel the same way if you suddenly gained a year of memories filled with turmoil? I dunno, but I have an explanation for it later.**

**Also – let's get the Cobb/Ariadne fanfiction on here going again! There are a lot of ideas out there and even little tiny stories about anything, like, I dunno, a chair, make a difference and start to define this couple. It's so underappreciated.**

**I love you all. Keep reading! Please! And review if possible.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: ***whistles*

**Notes: **Thanks for all the great reviews, guys, I really appreciate it all. :D Keeping this up is really, honestly a _lot_ of fun!

* * *

"You're sorry, huh?"

Ariadne's eyes were tired, and Miles glanced at Cobb over his glasses before back to the stack of papers in front on him; Cobb cleared his throat and nodded.

Ariadne shut her eyes, still slumped over the table with her head tilted to one side. "What're you sorry for? I was stabbed in the stomach is all."

Blinking, Cobb shoved his hands in his pockets. He'd thought she'd be a little angrier with him –

"Unless you're keeping something from me, of course," added the architect, still keeping her eyes closed.

"I – Ariadne, can we speak alone for a second?" inquired Cobb, his insides twisting. This was way too familiar. She was acting like she did before she was in the car accident.

Ariadne opened her eyes, narrowed them, and said, "I'm good."

"Ariadne," said Miles from the other side of the desk. "I think you should talk to him."

"Whose side are you on?" Ariadne said, straightening, sending a furious glare at the professor.

Miles' eyebrows rose; he pushed himself off of his desk chair and left to his office without a word, and Ariadne said tersely, "Oh, come on!"

"I _was_ here to catch up with Miles," said Cobb, moving down the steps to sit in one of the lecture hall seats facing the board. Ariadne stood up and whirled around to face him, about to interrupt, but he continued, "I'd rather see if you're okay, first."

"Oh, so now you care," Ariadne said snappishly.

"Hey, hey, when did I not?" Cobb countered, his eyebrows rising. _When you forcefully took her blueprint four years ago for that job, you idiot,_ said the vague voice in his mind.

"You definitely didn't when – " retorted the architect, when she paled and halted in her words.

Was there another time when he hadn't cared – ? There was a _possibility_ – but _when?_

"Go on," he prompted her, rising from the seat and descending down more stairs to the front of the lecture hall. She remained frozen in her spot. "Ariadne?"

"Go away," she said weakly. "I'll deal with your apologies later. Maybe later you'll find a real reason to apologize."

"I really am sorry," Cobb said, moving closer. She took a step back. He dared himself to add, "You know where to find me." _If your mind changes,_ he concluded in his head. He wasn't so certain she'd come back anymore – but he was hoping, just based on the ways she had acted before, _just like him, _that she would come back. She just had to.

"Yeah. Yeah," she confirmed, yet her eyes seemed much more clouded with something else than anger.

Cobb looked around him for a moment – he would have to catch his flight to Mombasa soon, and while he wished he could have talked to Miles, it wasn't that necessary now – before locking eyes with Ariadne once more. "Take care, okay?"

He turned and began making his way back up the lecture hall stairs. Just before he reached the door, Ariadne's voice came from behind him as she made her way to Miles' office door to speak to him once more:

"I remember it, Cobb."

Cobb spun around, his hand gripping the handle of the door so tightly in felt as though it were about to break off, but Ariadne disappeared into Miles' office, the door clicking shut behind her. His heart pounding, he swiftly left the lecture hall and walked briskly down the halls of the university; pulling out his cell phone, he was about to call Arthur and tell the point man that Ariadne _knew,_ when his fingers refused to punch in Arthur's number and Cobb was left with a terrible feeling he could hardly distinguish.

_She remembers it – she remembers – when the hell did she remember?_

He had no answer whatsoever to this question. Maybe it was in the hotel back in Cherbourg, the ride back, the dream – whatever it was, he couldn't tell it from the rest. He would have to talk to her when he came back from Mombasa.

Briefly, Cobb let his mind wonder how on Earth their lives had become so twisted around each other, like him and Mal, back when she was still alive… _no, Dom, don't think about her._

Reaching the front doors of the university, he stepped out and hailed a cab, grateful that he knew the French word for 'airport' – _l'aéroport –_ because he couldn't wait until he had a little peace and quiet on the plane, rather than the bustling of Paris.

* * *

"_Eames. Eames, god dammit, pick up the phone," _said Arthur's terse voice over the voicemail.

Eames rolled his eyes at his cell phone as he entered the very dim casino, shutting off the message midway – "_Cobb's coming over, so you better behave yourself or I swear I'll pop your brain out of your skull – " _and tucking his phone into his shirt's pocket.

"Mr. Eames, hello once more," said a sultry lady at the front of the casino, manning a bar hosting other men, some slouched over and drinking, some laughing loudly, some attempting to get the lady's attention.

"Naomi, darling," said Eames, playing along and seating himself in front of her. She leaned forward, sporting a cigar in her hands, and her eyebrow rose.

She picked up a glass and offered it to him. "Drink?"

"This time I'm waiting for someone," he answered, smiling at her.

"When you say that, it normally means a man," said Naomi, both her eyebrows shooting upward into her deep red hair this time.

"You've always teased me about that one time, love, and it's not him," said Eames, smirking at her and taking the glass she still held in her hand. Naomi poured him some gin.

"Well, who is it?"

"A longtime friend," Eames replied, leaning back in his chair. "Bugger's on the run."

"Ooh, saucy," said Naomi, leaning forward even more. "My type?"

"Definitely not, sweetheart," said Eames smilingly, looking up at her and raising the glass to his lips.

"But he seems like such the bad boy."

Eames scoffed. "You would think so, love, but definitely not anymore. It would ruin it for you if I told you he's a father."

"Never mind, then." Naomi poured the Brit some more gin, and Eames downed it in one gulp. "So what's he doing coming over here?"

"A job of some sort, I believe."

"Well," said Naomi, smacking her lips, "if he ever somehow turns out to be my type, introduce him to me, okay, hun?"

_I doubt that,_ thought Eames, but he gave her a knowing smirk and stood up from the bar, slapping down a few bills. "See you, Naomi."

"Will you?" she inquired, moving away from the bar to clean more glasses. Shrugging, he decided make his way further into the casino, sitting down at a random game and pulling out his poker chip from his coat's pocket and very subtly taking another two from someone else's pile. Putting a stolen chip out in front of him, the dealer took it away and began the game.

Eames didn't pay attention as the dealer moved about with the game and people mingled around him in the dim casino, instead sitting and unconsciously sliding his own poker chip and the second stolen one together. Over time he seemed to gather more and more poker chips, but he only ever bid one or two at a time. The game progressed, and Eames felt himself growing slightly impatient, and he began sliding his own poker chip and another one against each other once more – he'd become too accustomed to that.

"Rub them together all you want, they're not gonna breed."

_Cobb._ It was nice to know someone he knew, other than whores, was here too. "You never know," said Eames, putting the second stolen chip forward with another after winning a few more poker chips, tossing his own in his hand.

"I'll get you a drink," Cobb offered graciously, and it was obvious what the outcome of the game would be.

The dealer did his job, and Eames lost. Two of his poker chips were taken. He tucked his other already won poker chips into his pocket and got up, moving past Cobb, whose amusement was visible. "You're buying," said Eames gruffly.

He moved out of the game area to retrieve some cash for his poker chips, stopping on his way to arrange them into two neatly stacked piles, placing his own on top of one. With Cobb behind him, Eames put the stacks of chips down to exchange them for money.

Cobb took Eames' poker chip and turned it around in his hands. "Your spelling hasn't improved," he observed.

"Piss off," said Eames, knowing full well that Cobb was talking about the writing engraved on his poker chip.

"How's your handwriting?" Cobb continued.

His stacks of chips were replaced with a couple bills. "Versatile," said Eames, tucking them into his wallet.

"Good," said Cobb, nodding and looking around.

Eames moved around him with the intent of leaving the casino so they could talk – also just to drag him by and see Naomi's reaction.

He just passed the bar with Cobb tailing him as Naomi caught Eames' eye and winked. Eames moved over to the bar and said, "This is my friend, love. His name's Dom."

"Naomi," she enunciated seductively, an eyebrow rising.

Cobb cleared his throat, smiled tightly, and said, "Hello, Naomi."

"Eames tells me you're on the run," said Naomi, placing her chin in her palms and leaning forward on the bar – she liked to do that, Eames could tell, because her top was a bit too revealing, and she seemed to have fun making Cobb a little uncomfortable.

"I'm not," said Cobb tersely.

"Hun, when I tell you something like that you keep it a secret," said Eames. "It's a very hard thing to master but I'm sure you'll know how to do it someday."

"I just came from Paris," Cobb continued. "I – uh, I just got back from something that had my mind occupied for a while, so excuse me if I seem a little…"

"A lady?" inquired Naomi, straightening.

"You could call it that," said Cobb.

"Mal?" asked Eames, frowning.

"Uh – " Cobb licked his lips, and then nodded. "Yeah. Sure. Mal." He looked pained.

Naomi didn't look the least bit disappointed. "Well, good luck with her. Eames, don't forget to visit every once in a while."

"Of course, love," said Eames, and he and Cobb made their way out of the bar area out onto the streets of Mombasa.

* * *

Cobb kept a slight distance from Eames as they walked toward a small, two story restaurant. They held onto a nice conversation of Eames himself, unsurprisingly, because he seemed adamant on talking about his latest personal information.

"She was such a tiger," said Eames lovingly. "Speaking of which, Cobb, get a girlfriend." The forger held the door to the cheap restaurant open for Cobb and ushered him in.

"You are the most unbelievable person I have ever met," said Cobb tiredly, moving into the restaurant and looking for the stairs.

Eames moved in front of him, leading him to the staircase. Cobb tailed him and saw Eames shrug. "Well, you need someone to help you get over her."

"I do not."

"Tsk, tsk, denial, love. So, that table over there by the window. Useful?"

"Yeah, that's fine."

Sitting in the two chairs encompassing the table by the window of the dingy restaurant, Eames called for two beers and opened his own easily, as did Cobb. The forger made a motion at Cobb, which the extractor took as a sign to begin speaking.

"Inception." The word sounded foreign on his lips, like poison; Cobb didn't want to have to deal with this again. He placed his own beer down and took off his sunglasses. "Now, before you bother telling me it's impossible – "

"No, it's perfectly possible, it's just bloody difficult," said Eames, picking at some nuts on a plate in front of him – they seemed to leave a plate of mixed nuts for everybody on every table.

"I'm interested," said Cobb, tucking his sunglasses into his coat. "'Cause Arthur keeps telling me it can't be done."

"Mm, _Arthur,"_ Eames purred. "You still working with that stick in the mud?"

"Well, he's good at what he does, right?" said Cobb, and Eames sent him a burning stare.

"Oh, he's the best." That wasn't saying something. "But he has no imagination," continued the forger.

Cobb took a sip from his beer and placed it down gently. "Not like you," Cobb challenged.

"Listen," said Eames, turning serious, "if you're going to perform Inception you _need_ imagination."

The extractor breathed in and leaned forward. "Let me ask you something." Eames' lips twitched upward.

"Have you done it before?" inquired Cobb.

"We tried it," said Eames, nodding. "We got the idea in place, but it didn't take."

"You didn't plant it deep enough?" Mal._ Mal, Mal, Mal – _he took another drink.

Eames frowned, staring down at a handful of mixed nuts in his hand. "No, it's not just about _depth._ You, er – you need the simplest version of the idea in order for it to grow naturally in your subject's mind. It's a very subtle art."

Cobb took another drink.

"So what is this idea that you need to plant?" questioned Eames.

"We need the heir of a major corporation to dissolve his father's empire," said Cobb, smoothing his hair down by running a hand over it.

"Well, see, right there you have various political motivations and anti-monopolistic sentiments and so forth, but all of that stuff, it's, erm – it's really of the mercy of your subject's prejudice, you see. What you have to do is start at the absolute basic."

"Which is what?"

Silent for only a minute, looking out of the window and then to the bar in the back of the restaurant (he seemed to be quickly identifying something), Eames said, "The relationship with the father."

Cobb took this in quietly, his eyes shifting from the forger to the plate of mixed nuts in front of them. Eames began again. "Do you have a chemist?"

"No. Not yet."

"Right, well, there's a man here. Yusuf. He, er – he formulates his own versions of the compounds."

"Why don't you take me there?" Cobb asked, frowning.

"Once you've lost your tail," said Eames, smirking. "The man at the bar."

A man with hair slicked back, in a light brown suit, looked around the bar, attempting to look inconspicuous but failing to the trained eyes of Cobb and Eames. He latched eyes with Cobb for one second too long before continuing to roam the restaurant with his eyes.

Somehow keeping his voice straight (because Cobb's heart had jumped into his throat), Cobb affirmed Eames' words. "Cobol Engineering. That price on my head – was that dead or alive?" He sipped.

"Don't remember," said Eames, relaxed. "See if he starts shooting."

"Run interference, I'll meet you downstairs in the bar in, say… half an hour?"

"What, back here?" Eames said, looking at him.

"It's the last place they'd suspect," said Cobb, taking yet another drink of his beer. He had a rush of adrenaline now.

Eames nodded and chuckled, looking around them. "Well – " And he got up, dumping the mixed nuts on the table and picking up his beer. Cobb looked out the open window.

"Freddy, Freddy Simmons!" said Eames adoringly. "My God, it's you, isn't it?"

"Who?" said the man at the bar confusedly, trying to look past him to Cobb. Cobb took one last look at the bar and jumped out the window. There were gasps just as he jumped out and Cobb heard Eames say, "No, it isn't."

Cobb landed on cardboard, luckily enough, until a man ran up to him and grabbed him by his hair. "Not dreamin' now, are ya?" said the man, and Cobb shoved the pain in the back of his mind, whipping his head up under the man's chin and causing the man to be thrown off him.

_Get away – get away – you don't want this mission to be a failure, get away – for once don't let Arthur be right, he's always right – _Cobb charged through the crowded street as more men began to race after him.

He swore the streets weren't this crowded when he'd arrived; it was as if they spawned out of nowhere. Shoving innocent civilians out of the way, Cobb maneuvered his way through the streets, but he could tell Cobol's men were gaining on him. Grabbing a bat from someone he whirled around and whacked one of Cobol's men in his temple. _Fractured skull._ Shit, he hated doing this to people.

Dropping the bat he sprinted again, jumping on top of an empty stretcher being carried and trying as gracefully as possible to shove the civilians out of his way. If Eames were watching now, he'd be proud.

Spotting a massive crowd in front of a café, Cobb shoved his way through and looked for an empty seat in it.

There. He put himself into the seat hurriedly and looked around, hoping to god that the people he was sitting with wouldn't say a word. They didn't.

"_Zoombu!"_ said the waiter, placing down a tray at the table. _"Ah no-no ghani!"_

"One café," pleaded Cobb. "One café, one!" He held up a finger, trying to get the waiter to quiet down.

"_Sitaku, sitaku! Sh'ia poi, oweechu no poi taku sitaku!"_

"_Shhhh,"_ said Cobb desperately. The other civilians in the café looked at him angrily.

"_Na po-ah iko! Eh ah ino shi-a, mojo ina – "_

The waiter was getting physical. Shit. Cobb _really_ didn't like doing this. _"Shhh!"_ said Cobb, his voice growing hoarse.

"_Na po-ah iko! Na po-ah iko! Akaveen! Akaveen, Aka – "_

_SHIT!_

Cobb bolted from his chair as soon as the men who worked for Cobol ran into the café. One ran and tackled Cobb to the ground; Cobb kneed him in the stomach, then to the head. Gunshots sounded loudly and people ducked. Cobb ran toward the nearest double-door window and burst through it, dodging to the left down an alley.

Hoping his legs wouldn't fail him, he spotted an oncoming car at the last second and jumped out of its way in the tight alley. One of Cobol's men slammed right into it, passing out. Stuck in the tight space between the car and the alley's wall, other Cobol employees began shooting at him and Cobb climbed up on top of the car as the driver stared at him in disbelief. He was on his way again, moving every which way until he realized the alley was a dead end.

_Quick thinking. Arthur would run up the wall, Eames would blast through it. What can I do?_ And he saw the tiny space between two walls at the end of the alley. _I'd find a way around it._ Which was his solution to most problems.

He ducked into the small space and ran through it head on to avoid the gunshot, when he got stuck. Cobb cursed himself for not turning sideway to get through it quicker and struggled for his life to get out of the tight space.

"GET HIM! GET HIM!"

_Jesus Christ, let me through – _

"THERE!"

And Cobb broke free into another street, much more common, with many more cars. He ran one way until he saw a Range Rover pull out from a connecting street and halt, its front doors opening and a man beginning to fire.

Cobb stared at it incredulously for a split second – Mombasa really was Cobol's backyard – before whirling the other way, only to be faced by another man appearing with a gun.

Only this time a different car's back door opened, slamming into the man's face and causing him to crumple to the ground.

Saito, his employer for the Inception, also the reason why Cobb had to go through _so much effort_, including Eames and Ariadne, peered out of the open door and said, "Care for a lift, Mr. Cobb?"

Cobb jumped into the car and shut the door, breathing heavily and inquiring, dumbfounded, "What're you doing in Mombasa?"

"I need to protect my investments," said Saito, his eyebrows rising. With a few more questions from Cobb to Saito (with the latter answering them shortly and smugly) they arrived back at the restaurant Cobb had left Eames at, only to find Eames leaning against the doorframe of the restaurant. Cobb whistled at him.

"So this is your idea of losing a tail, hm?" said Eames, moving to the car.

"Different tail," said Cobb tiredly, and Eames blew air out of his mouth while shaking his head.

"Let's go find Yusuf, and then you can get all the tails you want, love," said the forger, sliding into the car.

* * *

"_Bonjour. Je m'appelle Ariadne Bishop._"

The clerk of the hospital looked up at her, seeming to scan her with narrowed eyes. _"Bonjour, Mademoiselle Bishop. Est-ce qu'on peut vous aider?"_

"_Euh – désolé, je ne suis pas vraiment formidable en parlant le français. Vous parlez en anglais?"_

"Yes, if you wish," said the clerk, a little more patiently, with a heavy French accent.

"Thank you," said Ariadne graciously. "I was here a few years ago as a patient. An amnesiac. They told me – " Her voice broke a little here and she faltered for a moment. "They told me to come back if I remembered."

The clerk stared at her for a second longer than normal before picking up a phone in front of her and dialing quickly. She spoke rapid French into the phone before saying in English to Ariadne, "Please remain here, someone is coming for you right away."

And she waited for what seemed like two hours instead of two minutes. When someone finally called to her ("Ariadne Bishop, please hurry this way," said a tall American man dressed in a large doctor's gown, holding a clipboard) she followed them down the hallway, turning at nearly every corner, until they reached a secluded room far away from the lobby of the hospital.

"One moment, if you will," said the man. He looked through the sheets on his clipboard before shifting his gaze up at her.

"Miss Bishop," he said gently, as the door to the room opened again to let in two other doctors. "You had lost your memory of your freshman year at university, yes?"

"That's – that's right," said Ariadne.

"First thing is first," said one of the doctors. "How did you regain your memory?"

"I – " _I was being taught in shared dreaming. _"I met… a teacher I thought I hadn't met before."

"A teacher?" said one of the doctors, frowning. "Were you involved with him romantically?"

"Oh, no, no," said Ariadne. Her heart churned. That statement bothered her more than she liked, but she kept her eyes locked on the doctors'. "I – nothing like that, he's married now as well. And has a child."

"Right," said the first doctor who'd walked her to the room, scribbling something down on his clipboard. "We're going to ask you a few questions, but it might take a while, because this is a big deal. So…"

Ariadne gulped down an odd feeling and shoved it to the back of her mind as the doctors began their questions.

* * *

"So, Cobb, tell me about your new architect," said Eames in the car. Cobb glanced at Saito, who was flipping through his wallet casually.

"She's wonderful," said Cobb honestly. "Extremely talented. She can draw out extensive mazes and incorporate them in models in just hours."

"Like you," Eames observed. "She sounds a lot like you, love. I think I'll like her."

"Don't try anything."

"Oh, don't worry, I'll most likely be happier seeing _darling,_ anyway."

"Mr. Cobb," said Saito suddenly.

"Yes, sir?" inquired Cobb.

The Japanese business man watched him for a long, quiet moment, before smiling. "I'd like to meet your new architect. If she's anything as you are, you will have a fantastic team."

_If she's anything like me, then it could either be very good, or very bad,_ thought Cobb wearily. "Thank you, Mr. Saito."

* * *

As Arthur peered closer at the samples of Ariadne's work, he began to read one note at the very bottom of the blueprint of her major work. It wasn't written in Ariadne's handwriting, nor Cobb's, and Arthur struggled to remember who wrote it, but its message was loud and clear:

_Similarités: un peu plus trop pour confort._

* * *

**Translations:**

**Ariadne: "Hello, my name is Ariadne Bishop."**

**Clerk: "Hello, Miss Bishop. Can I help you?"**

**Ariadne: "Um – sorry, but I'm not the best at speaking French. Do you speak English?"**

**The note on Ariadne's sample: "Similarities: a bit too much for comfort."**

**So I don't like this chapter as much as the others. Dunno why… =/ But anyway, I'm glad I could get it up. Also, when that guy in the café in Mombasa was yelling at Cobb – I had no idea what he was saying and basically just wrote down crap. :P **

**Review please! They make my day :) I hope you enjoyed it!**


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: **Inception belongs to movie making god and my king, Christopher Nolan. AND GUESS WHAT, HIS BIRTHDAY PASSED A FEW DAYS AGO.

**Notes: **Sorry I haven't updated for a while! I have a project to do for a hard class I'm taking the upcoming year. Thank you so much for the reviews!

There's been a HUGE lack of Cobb/Ariadne love here :( Let's get going, guys! I don't want this to be a dying fandom. I haven't loved a couple so much since Clark/Lois in Superman! (And Harry/Ginny in Harry Potter, honestly.) Pleeeaaaase, I love Cobb and Ariadne too much to let them go =/

* * *

Ariadne left the hospital an hour later, feeling no worse, but at the same time, no better. The doctors had drained nearly all her energy with questions, nearly all of them about Cobb. _What did he teach? How was his wife, his child? Where did he live? How old was he? Did he know about her accident? How long had she known him? How were his friends? How did he work? Was he patient? How about angry? Stubborn? Could they, by chance, talk to him? _

Goodness! How was she supposed to know? It wasn't as if she'd seen the man every day for her life. _How did he work? _How was she supposed to answer that? "Well, he happens to find it nice to take me into dreams and scare the living crap out of me when his psycho wife comes to stab me in the stomach with a kitchen knife." Ariadne was fairly certain she wasn't supposed to tell _that_ to the doctors, considering Cobb had told her that the job wasn't "strictly speaking, _legal."_

And _Mal!_ How was she just creeping around in his dreams? If he could see her everyday then she shouldn't have been in his dreams in the first place unless – unless they'd separated? Had they divorced? She felt just a little bit more relieved at this._  
_

As she stood at the entrance of the hospital with her hands hanging limply at her sides, she came to the conclusion that she couldn't ignore the small voice in the back of her head saying, "You know he didn't mean it. You know he didn't. He said he'd changed."

Readjusting the strap of her purse on her shoulder, she sighed and called for a cab.

* * *

Arthur quietly packed the wire he'd used back into the PASIV, deep in thought. It'd been days since Cobb had left for Mombasa, and since their new architect had left. Well, she wasn't very experienced anyway, so Arthur couldn't exactly call her their new architect. _Ariadne,_ her name was. Arthur snorted and the corners of his lips quirked upward. Wasn't Ariadne that princess' name in that myth, with Theseus? Who helped Theseus defeat the Minotaur and get out of the maze the monster was in? Even her name suited dreams. She was well suited for being the architect.

That is, if she ever came back. Would she? Cobb had said she would, that she wouldn't be able to keep away from dreams. Arthur nearly laughed out loud at that. Those two had so much in common it was almost funny.

He remembered the first day Cobb had come home from a newly employed 'job' on a Saturday. He couldn't seem to look at anything the same anymore. He'd been in his third year of college, and he'd been at the top of his class and completely bored with everything. But after that one day, he'd come home and looked at everything in a new light.

"_Are you okay?" _Arthur had asked, staying over at his rented apartment while his parents were off on a trip to Bolivia. Purely business, for his father. He was fourteen then, Cobb twenty, and this was before Arthur's parents had been killed.

"_You wouldn't believe me if I told you," _Cobb had said, smirking as he sat down in front of him.

"_Would Eames believe you?" _Arthur'd inquired, referring to the nineteen year old boy who was living with his acting parents in downtown San Francisco, auditioning often for TV roles and movie roles.

"_Will probably would," _said Cobb. _"In fact, Will would be delighted with it. You know how he is."_

"_Well, what is it?"_

"_You sure you wanna know?" _Twenty-year old Cobb leaned forward and smiled wickedly.

"_Yeah, worth a shot," _Arthur told him.

"_Dreams," _Cobb had drawled, standing up and snapping his fingers. _"That's really all you need to know. Then you'll see everything differently. There's… nothing quite like it," _he added, and the words never left Arthur's mind.

When Arthur's parents had come back and were killed two years later, Cobb had put Arthur under his wing and said, _"I'm as good as an older brother. Don't worry." _

"_Where are you at, most of the time?" _Arthur had questioned one day as Cobb dropped him off at his high school.

"_College," _said Cobb. _"Then I go out with some of my friends."_

"_Can I join you some time?"_

"_Maybe," _Cobb mused. _"Maybe I'll see if you're ready for it."_

"_I know a girl at school who wants you to tutor her," _Arthur put in. _"Heather. Maybe Greer."_

"_You know what's a better name?" _said Cobb, looking off into the distance. _"Mallorie." _He paused for a second, and Arthur frowned as Cobb pondered over the name for a while. Then the older man continued, _"I'll pick you up at two thirty."_

Arthur shook his head and stared up at the ceiling. _Mallorie._ Back then, Arthur had thought it was a harmless crush. But then, when he'd gotten into Cobb's gang of friends, he met her, realized that Cobb's 'friends' were more of a team who didn't associate with each other at all outside of work, and that Cobb was tripping over himself over _Mallorie, _even though it wasn't a good idea. Maybe that was why Cobb was always so quiet when he talked about Mal back then. Until, of course, Cobb began taking Arthur under privately and taught him about dreams, much like Arthur was certain he had done with Ariadne. Then, when Cobb brought Arthur over to Mal a few months later, Mal latched onto him like a virus and said, _"You're perfect."_

Arthur was assigned as a point man – Mal had an eye for reading people – and the other point man in the team got so angry he cursed all of them into oblivion and quit, which made the chemist put his flasks away in his bag and say, _"I've been wanting to get out of this team for ages," _and with that, the chemist left as well. Mal had simply shrugged and turned to Cobb.

"_You won't quit on me, will you, chérie?" _she had murmured endearingly.

Cobb had stared at her in a daze and shook his head.

Arthur also remembered that Cobb had left him one day in order to get Eames from San Francisco. Arthur had been eighteen, old enough to move out (which he was going to do – he was accepted into Columbia in New York), but Cobb specifically told him until that day came, Arthur would still be Cobb's responsibility. _"I have to go talk to Will about some jobs," _Cobb explained as he loaded his luggage into a French cab. _"I'll be back soon, and then we can focus on you moving out for your dorm in New York."_

So Cobb had left to meet up with twenty-three year old William Eames, who was still in downtown San Francisco, attending a university focused on theatre and cinema.

Now, as Arthur looked back down at the PASIV and gathered his thoughts together (he didn't usually stand around and reminisce the past, he'd tried to put it behind him after that fiasco of a job had occurred four years ago – the Cross job), he pondered on Ariadne. She was nice, sweet enough, and _very_ talented.

She was also as fierce as a tiger. When Cobb was younger, he would stop at nothing to get what he needed. There was a job they'd done a while back, and they were hardly able to pull it off because Mal was pregnant with James and Cobb had kept her away, and to add to that, they had no chemist and no forger. It was only Cobb and Arthur. Arthur's steely attitude turned the subject off until Cobb pulled him aside and told him to _snap out of it,_ and Cobb's own charm was lacking slightly because of the pressure of keeping everything under control. The second Cobb had read the necessary information was the second the subject shot a bullet through his head, and when Cobb had woken up before the subject could, he slammed the subject's head into the wall and knocked him out so he and Arthur could escape.

Would Ariadne be able to be as daring as that? Arthur knew she could be. However, he hoped it wouldn't come to that. She had no experience yet, but Cobb was already throwing her into the world of dreams. Her first job was going to be an inception, not an extraction. Inception was certainly _much _more difficult… to Cobb, at least. Arthur didn't think it could be done. If they could pull it off, she would be a force to be reckoned with.

Still, there were a lot of differences between Ariadne and Cobb, just a lot more subtle. Before, Cobb was daring and much more self-assured… and loud. He wasn't afraid to be obnoxious. But when Mal died, he'd completely changed. Cobb had become reserved and paranoid, unsure of what to do. He'd gotten better but still had issues with the paranoia and reservation, though he'd become more confident over time.

Ariadne, though – she wasn't afraid to ask questions. She wasn't afraid to knock something over to get what she wanted. If her storming out of the warehouse before like that was any indication, she would stop at nothing to finish whatever she started.

Good. Arthur figured they needed someone like that on their team, since Cobb was wallowing far too much to get much done anyway.

Arthur sighed and rubbed his eyes, about to settle to the grueling task of more research on Mr. Robert Fischer, when there was a click from the door of the warehouse, and several taps following. His eyebrows rose, and he turned to see Ariadne walking, slightly sheepishly, toward him.

"Cobb said you'd be back," he said knowingly.

"I tried not to come, but…" She shook her head, giving him a slight smile, trailing off.

"But there's nothing quite like it," finished Arthur, repeating what Cobb had told him when they'd been young.

She looked at him approvingly. "It's just… pure creation," she put in softly.

She also knew when to soft-spoken, too. That was another difference.

"Shall we take a look at some _paradoxical architecture?"_ he told her, and by the way her eyes lit up, he knew she wouldn't be leaving any time soon.

She sat down on a lawn chair and he gave her a needle. She carefully inserted it into her arm just as he sat on a lawn chair and did the same, and within seconds after activating the somnacin, they were deep in the dream world.

* * *

"You're gonna have to master a few tricks if you're gonna build three complete dream levels," he was telling her, and suddenly they found themselves on a giant staircase inside an office building. They bypassed a woman kneeling on the staircase, trying to gather the papers that had spilled out of her file. "Excuse me," Arthur said politely, and moved on, with Ariadne following him.

"What kind of tricks?" inquired the young architect curiously.

"In a dream, you can cheat architecture into impossible shapes. That lets you create closed loops, like the Penrose steps." He paused, glancing down at the woman kneeling by her papers who had suddenly appeared right before them once more. "The infinite staircase."

He climbed to the top of that set of stairs and stopped before reaching the new flight; the end of the staircase separated from the new flight of stairs. "See?" he said while looking down at the flight of stairs below them that was faked into appearing to be part of their own set of stairs.

"Paradox," he said, looking at Ariadne. There was a glimmer of excitement in her eyes, but Arthur could tell she was refraining from asking questions. She'd ask questions, though. He knew she would, and it probably wouldn't be about the architecture.

They descended the staircase, going to the floor of the office building. "So a closed loop like that will help disguise the boundaries of the dream you created," he told her as they went down the staircase, stepping onto the floor of the building.

"Okay – but how big do these levels have to be?" she questioned. Arthur inwardly admired her way of asking questions. She was keeping up well.

"They can be anything from the floor of a building to an entire city," he answered. "But they have to be complicated enough that we can hide from the projections."

Something flashed through her eyes at the word 'projections,' and she added, "A maze."

"Right, a maze. The better the maze – "

"Then the longer we have before the projections catch us?"

She _was _good. Arthur mentally applauded Cobb for finding her. "Exactly," he told her.

There was a moment of silence as they walked through the office building, with projections passing by them, minding their own business. "My subconscious seems nice enough," Ariadne put in after a pause.

Arthur laughed. "You wait, they'll turn ugly. No one likes to face someone else messing around in their mind." One projection stared at him suspiciously as he walked by, but otherwise did nothing. The other projections simply kept away.

"Cobb can't build anymore, can he?" There it was. Arthur knew Cobb would come in at some point.

He stopped and looked at her. "I don't know if he can't," said Arthur, "but he won't. He thinks it's safer if he doesn't know the layouts." Arthur had a suspicion as to _why_ Cobb didn't want to know the layouts, but he couldn't confirm it.

"Why?" she asked.

_Here goes nothing, _he thought.

"He won't tell me," said Arthur, exhaling, watching the projections. "But I think it's Mal."

"His ex-wife?"

"No, not his ex," he said, and he could see the wheels turning in her head. With a jolt inside of him that he kept suppressed, he realized that Ariadne had come to remember her whole ordeal with him, Cobb, and Mal during the Cross job four years ago.

"They're still _together?"_ she asked him, her eyebrows rising.

He looked at her wonderingly, at her raised eyebrows and her expecting face. At the slight, very obvious thought that Cobb and Mal together wasn't what she wanted. "No, it's – " He faltered, unsure of how to put it. Bluntly would be easiest. "She's dead."

The horror seeped behind her eyes at that realization, and a look of regret, too. She had obviously never pondered that part of what might have happened.

"What you see in there – " _Cobb's subconscious, _he meant, " – is just his projection of her."

She opened and closed her mouth, not sure how to respond to that, completely taken by surprise. She avoided his eyes before looking up after a few seconds, asking, "What was she like in real life?"

_Don't you know? _But maybe she wanted his input. Arthur remembered Mal's charm, her beauty, her French touched accent. He remembered her holding Phillipa, then James, kissing them both on their foreheads as she put them to sleep. He remembered her seductive tricks she did for her extractions on her marks. He remembered the times they, along with Cobb and Eames, would sit in their hotel room and plan their next job carefully (after leaving James and Phillipa with Miles), how Mal would bring up mugs of hot cocoa when it was a particularly cold night, huddling close to Cobb after setting the tray down on the coffee table, how she would tease him and Eames for sleeping in the same bed as she slept in one with Cobb – Mal was one of his dearest friends.

"She was lovely," he told the waiting architect after a long pause.

Ariadne looked taken aback, and that was the last thing he saw before the PASIV's time ran out and they woke up on the lawn chairs. Arthur pretended not to notice that she didn't move from her position as he got up and put the needles and wires away, shutting the PASIV's case and moving into the storage room to put it away. He came back from the room to find her sitting up, looking at him sadly.

"Is it wrong – " she began, halting her words and biting her lip. "Um – nevermind."

"Is it wrong you can't help but feel relieved?" he guessed.

"Partly," she admitted, looking ashamed. "She was nice enough to me, but... I don't know."

"She was a little off before she had her kids," Arthur told her, sitting next to her on the lawn chair.

"Kids?"

"You didn't know?"

"I thought they only had one."

"Oh." Shaking his head, he noted the small smile on Ariadne's lips. "A year and a half after they had Phillipa – uh, their first daughter – they had James."

The smile disappeared from her lips and she cleared her throat. "So… Mal. She changed after they had… Phillipa… and James?"

"Yeah. She got a lot nicer, a lot friendlier. Not that she wasn't already. She didn't really do this – " He waved at all the papers and the laptops sitting around them in the warehouse. " – after she became a mother. She wasn't really up to it, and also, Cobb insisted she settle down for a little while to adjust to motherhood."

"I wish I knew her then," said Ariadne, and Arthur was surprised to hear that she sounded sincere. "I wish I did so I'd feel guiltier about – " And she halted, frowning, and didn't go on.

"Ariadne, you have a right not to feel guilty," Arthur assured her after a few seconds, when it was obvious she wasn't going to speak. "And please, don't take it upon yourself to feel that way. We have enough guilt on this team with Cobb."

She didn't say anything for a while, and Arthur stood up and held out a hand. She grasped it and he helped her up, too.

"When Cobb comes back, he'll want me to keep training you, instead of himself," said Arthur. "Are you okay with that?"

"But… isn't he an architect?" she asked, confused.

"Yes, well, I'll have to give you the training on actually inserting the paradoxes into the dream levels."

Ariadne tucked her hands into her pockets. "Okay."

"We could always have Cobb train you _anyway,_ if you want," he added, seeing the hesitancy on her face.

She remained silent.

"Ariadne?"

She pursed her lips and said, "It's okay, you can teach me."

Arthur's eyebrows rose. By the way she was avoiding his gaze, he figured something else was up, and he would bet anything it was about Cobb. "You don't have to _hide _it, you know. Lots of kids I knew at school thought he was attractive too, so – "

"What? No!" She laughed it away. "He's over ten years older than me. That's impossible."

Arthur noted the fact that she didn't exactly deny it, but he let the subject go anyway. When Cobb came back, he'd talk to him about training her. Maybe Cobb would want to train her anyway.

As Ariadne left to gather her things and head back to her hotel for the day, Arthur's thoughts traced back to Cobb and his stay in Mombasa. Tomorrow, Cobb would be back, and who knew what would happen with Ariadne remembering. They'd clash. Cobb would pull away, and Ariadne would try and pull him back.

Arthur sighed, put his head in his hands once more, and resolved to head home for the night.

* * *

Cobb climbed onto the jet heading from Mombasa to Paris, with Eames tailing after him, and Saito at the end. Eames successfully acquired every single available female phone number on the jet, and Saito gave a pat on the shoulder approvingly.

He sat down in a seat, accepting a glass of water from a hostess, and stared out the window. There was a clamber at the door of the jet and in came Yusuf, the newly appointed chemist, who specialized in sedatives for dreams within dreams and kept them under for long amounts of time; they would never be at risk for non-stabilized sedation with Yusuf as their chemist.

Cobb stared out the window again, unable to keep his thoughts on one thing. His focus jumped from one thing to another like a hot potato. The inception on Fischer – could they pull it off? How was Arthur doing in his research? James and Phillipa, would he ever see their beautiful faces again? And Mal – oh, _Mal!_ He wished she were here, he felt so guilty! And how about Ariadne? What would happen when they saw each other again?

He couldn't deny the ridiculous tension that had built before her realization and her memories resurfacing. He hoped they could get past it and move on, focusing instead on their job and not silly personal things.

The extractor wasn't fazed by Eames' constant pestering of Yusuf behind him, and Saito's calm conversations on the phone a way back. Instead, he took a sip of his water and fiddled with his phone. He'd gotten a text from Arthur earlier saying that Ariadne had come back to learn. Before Cobb knew it, he was replying by sending a text back to Arthur, asking for Ariadne's number.

A few minutes later (with Cobb mentally smacking himself), his phone beeped with the new text: _01 11 27 11 74. Why do you need it?_

Cobb hurriedly typed in a random excuse before calling the number, which he knew to be one of Paris' phone lines. Two dial tones later, she picked up.

"_Hello?"_ she inquired on the other line.

"Ariadne?" he asked right back at her.

"_Cobb?" _she said, surprised.

"I know this might not be an appropriate time," he said, the words suddenly coming to him, "but we need to talk when I get back."

"_Wow, and here I was, thinking we were going to assume everything would get better after we get boo-boos," _she said wryly. He smiled, then stopped himself.

"Don't be smart with me, I'm being absolutely serious."

"_I am too, Cobb!" _She became exasperated. _"Now, if you'll excuse me, I've just ended my lesson with Arthur today."_

That statement bothered him more than it should have. "Oh, yeah?" he said snidely. "I'm certain you had a _great_ time."

He could nearly see her turn red, even though he only heard her voice. _"When you get back," _she snarled into the phone, _"we are having a civilized conversation and I expect to know every little thing that's going on so this job won't be screwed over. Leave Arthur out of this. He just so happens to be a gentleman, unlike someone I know!"_

With that, the phone line clicked, signifying the end of the conversation, and Cobb sighed. He'd snapped again. Why was it that he always had to fight with her? Maybe they just had to get over their differences and find the similarities, which (Cobb could remember perfectly) Miles had said was plenty.

With Eames, Yusuf, and Saito having an animated discussion behind him, he distanced himself from their words and felt disconnected as his thoughts turned once again to Mal, his dead wife, and he found himself missing the smell of her hair, the soft dimples in her cheeks when she smiled.

It was all too unnerving when, over a long period of time on the plane, the image of his wife transformed into a shorter, younger, very much more _alive_ girl with a scarf wrapped around her neck, and Cobb sighed, dwelling on what he would say when he saw her, how he would apologize for his rash behavior, his rude words. How he would make it up to her about that blueprint so long ago, for being the cause of her accident (though completely unintentionally, by distracting her when he first explained the world of dreams after her having put two and two together right after the Cross job) – for being so completely daft.

Because Cobb knew Miles was absolutely right.

Through the many differences he was so determined to see, he missed what was even more obvious: the similarities that made them clash so easily.

* * *

**I'm so sorry it took so long to update. I've had a summer project I had to work on and it is **_**so time consuming**_**. UGH.**

**I really hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'll try to update quicker from now on. I promise!**

**Please review, they really do help and give me inspiration. I love you all :)**


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: **Inception doesn't belong to me. Never has, never will. I just mess around with Christopher Nolan's brain-children. *evil grin*

**Notes: **Sorry for the delay. I've had marching band, school, other clubs… I'm _really _busy. But I'm trying to keep up with this story! Don't worry, I'm still in love with this fandom as much as I've been since when I first got into it… I don't think it'll ever die out for me :P

Thank you all for the wonderful reviews! I'm glad you all find this story intriguing. I'll try to make it as interesting as possible, _promise._

* * *

"Ariadne. Hey. Ariadne? Wake up."

Arthur hovered over Ariadne as she opened her eyes, blearily looking up at him in the darkness of the warehouse. "You fell asleep," he stated simply. "You might be overworking yourself. Try to take it a little easier; you're doing really well already."

Ariadne gave a little groan and rubbed her hands over her eyes as Arthur started to pack her designs away into a small bag. There was a second or two of fiddling around until Arthur faltered, and she looked up to see him staring down at a sheet of paper with a quote on the back.

"Did you draw this?" said Arthur, clearly not having seen the quote yet.

"Cobb gave it to me," she replied, sitting up and blinking. He frowned and flipped it over, reading the quote, and then chuckling in acknowledgment.

"I didn't know Cobb could still draw this well." Arthur slid the drawing into her bag.

"That's a four year old drawing," Ariadne told him.

Arthur glanced down into her bag and sighed. "I keep forgetting you sometimes know more about Cobb than I do, really."

Surprised, Ariadne watched him with wide eyes. "What do you mean?"

His lips twitched downward and the pointman said, "Don't worry about it."

Ever since a couple of days ago since Cobb had arrived from Mombasa with the new forger, Eames, there had been inflexible tension between them. Ariadne wanted nothing more than to simply attempt to push the past away, but the more she tried, the harder it became to do that and she couldn't bring herself to ignore what had happened four years ago. But, try as she may, she couldn't bring herself to be angry any longer.

Which brought her to her most recent predicament – how did she know more about Cobb than _Arthur,_ who happened to figuratively be Cobb's younger brother? The bond between those two, she could see, was stronger than what she'd ever seen.

Maybe Arthur didn't necessarily mean that. Maybe he was implying something else. Yes, that was it.

It was at that point when the door of the warehouse was pulled open and both Cobb and the new forger entered the dimly lit room. "Darling!" said Eames ecstatically as soon as he saw Arthur holding the PASIV. Arthur groaned as Eames walked over to him. The Brit slapped his back amicably and Arthur dropped the PASIV on Eames's foot. Eames howled and dropped to his foot as Arthur held his back in pain, yelling, "Dumbass! That damn well _hurt!"_

In the midst of this, Cobb caught Ariadne's eyes and flushed, looking away quickly. Quickly irritated, Ariadne made her way over to him and said, "We need to talk."

"What's done is done, Ariadne, I'm sorry." He still wasn't looking at her.

"Cobb, please. _We need to talk._ This is getting us nowhere. I told you two days ago that I wanted a civil conversation with you when you got back – "

"_Ah! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, oh god, I'm sorry, darling – "_

" – but you've been so uptight about it that we never got around to it. So we're going to talk."

"_But really, love, you've got to lessen up on your attitude – "_

Cobb met her eyes again and swallowed. "It's more complicated than you think, Ariadne."

"_Eames, I swear to your dead parents that I will beat you to a bloody pulp if you don't get your hands off of me."_

"Try me," she said firmly.

Cobb held her strong gaze for a moment, something flashing through his eyes. Eames yelped from beside the lawn chairs and they broke their gaze, looking toward the point man and the forger for a second, before Cobb said, "Okay. We can talk. But I'm not… I'm not ready to explain everything yet."

"I just want to get this figured out, Cobb," said Ariadne. "I'm up to working with you on this, no matter what's happened before. I am. But you need to cooperate with me."

He nodded silently, watching her. Cobb's sea colored eyes engulfed her in a wave of emotion, and for once, there was no wall between them. And then, a second later, he blinked and guarded himself once more before turning to Arthur and Eames, who were arguing heatedly – well, more like _Arthur_ was arguing heatedly – and Cobb said, "We'll be right back."

"Where're you going?" Arthur said, his irritation at Eames deflating in an instant.

"Back to Ariadne's studio," said Cobb smoothly. "She has a model to show me but she forgot to bring it here."

"Right," said Eames, winking at Ariadne. "Have fun."

While Cobb downright ignored the Brit, Ariadne flushed a terrible scarlet and Arthur scoffed, saying, "Don't change the damn subject. We are _not finished."_

An indignant "ow!" was the last thing Ariadne heard as she exited the door held open by Cobb.

* * *

Cobb walked aimlessly away from the warehouse, with Ariadne walking quickly to keep up with his long legs. At first, he thought he'd simply give up on it – she didn't _need_ an explanation, did she? But yes, yes, she did, and he'd be damned if he didn't give it to her. He was scared, though. He was terrified of the aspect that she might, once more, simply leave and render them helpless. Yes, he wanted nothing more than to be with his children, but… he had to be honest with himself, too. He didn't want her to leave.

Ever since he'd gotten back from Mombasa, he'd been torn. Torn about everything. He missed Mal so, _so _much, and he felt guiltier and guiltier about her death as time went on, but Ariadne had changed things. Sure, Arthur had been there, but Arthur was… well… Arthur. He'd never been quite the same ever since after the Cross job, when he steeled himself from everyone and everything. But Ariadne – he didn't want to say she was fresh. She wasn't. Well, in technical terms, she was, but he forbade himself to think about that. She wasn't fresh in mentality. Ariadne was… what on earth was the word?

"We're not actually going to my apartment," Ariadne interrupted, "are we?"

Broken from his thoughts, Cobb looked around and found that he'd led them to a quiet, secluded grove behind a group of small unknown family restaurants. Trees from all around created patches of sunlight – whatever was coming through from passing grey clouds – on the grass and small groups of flowers spotted the soft ground. There was a small arbor by the path leading through the grass.

"No," said Cobb. "Unless you want to."

"Let's stay," Ariadne told him, smiling softly. "This place is beautiful." She made her way to the arbor and sat, and Cobb could tell she was enjoying the soft breeze through the grove and the calm shade of the wooden arbor. He walked over slowly, looking around, and he found himself admiring his surroundings as well – he hadn't appreciated simple nature for a while. He sat beside her on the arbor and let out a sigh he hadn't known he was holding.

"Do you want me to start, if you're uncomfortable?" she said, looking over to him.

"No. No, it's okay." He had to do this. "But – I mean, I'm not sure how I should – I don't know, do I just say 'sorry?' Because that's too little, I know it's too little, but Christ, Ari – I'm sorry."

"Ari?" she parroted.

"What?"

"You called me 'Ari.' Only Miles calls me that."

"I – " Oops. "I don't know, it just slipped out."

She smiled at him, and he took a second to admire how a ray of sunlight fell through the trees and the arbor to brighten her eyes, and then he caught himself and said, "Anyway – really, Ariadne. I'm sorry. It might be hard to accept that I'm different from what I used to be and what you remember. But I am. I'm not the same person."

"Yes, you are," she argued gently. "Not in mentality, I guess, but in other ways, you are. It's just hidden somewhere under all those walls you've got up, Cobb."

"Walls – ?"

There was another breeze, colder this time, and some of the patches of sunlight disappeared throughout the grove. It seemed like there was a storm approaching and approaching fast.

"Walls, Cobb," she said. She took a moment to look around the darker grove, and then she turned back to him. "I… I like this. It's civilized. We're not arguing."

"That'll change soon enough. You'll find a way to correct me," he said, chuckling.

Cobb paused for a moment, watching the nearby trees and bushes sway in the soft breeze, which was slowly picking its pace up. "You're completely welcome to be angry with me on what I did. I had no right. I violated your work and introduced you to something terrible."

"It isn't terrible – "

"Ariadne, listen to me," he said, leaning closer to her, and she backed away on the bench slightly. "I may have loved it at first, but this job has taken away so much. It might give you a lot, but… you can't create without destroying. Am I right?"

"Right," she said. Then she became fidgety and nervous, and she said, "I'm sorry for what happened to M – your… wife."

Cobb tensed horribly, pulling back. _Mal._ It was okay, Ariadne could say her name - she didn't have to hide. Did she? No, because he wouldn't let Mal hurt her. He couldn't, not again.

"I don't mind, Ariadne," he told her. "You can say it."

She didn't, though. Instead, she folded her hands on her lap. "Do you miss her?" Ariadne inquired, looking at him, suddenly looking small and vulnerable.

With that, he understood everything. She was terrified of Mal, of what she had done before, of the terror brought into Ariadne's life before her accident. She was petrified at the fact that Mal was still alive and haunting, even if she was just part of Cobb's subconscious.

He looked at her wide chocolate eyes, her soft brown hair. How different they were from the ever-changing blues of Mal and the deep brown of her hair. How _young_ she was! To go through as much as she did when she was barely twenty-three?

Like him? Leaving his parents as soon as he was eighteen, taking in Arthur after his parents were killed, being recruited for the government's Secret Subconscious Society – as Eames used to say – and being put on Mal's team for their jobs… it all had a gigantic toll on him. He'd been curious and, needless to say, it hadn't led him to a very good place.

Suddenly, he felt a rush of… what was it? Regret? No. Fear. He was terrified. Terrified of losing Ariadne. Losing her to the dream world, losing her to his deathly subconscious, losing her to, hell, Arthur.

Shit.

"I think we're okay now, Cobb," said Ariadne, looking at him and taking his hand in her own, "but you have to promise me to let me help you."

"You'll be lost," he said, his stomach twisting painfully.

She shook her head, shaking her brown hair in the strengthening wind, and said, "No. My job is to keep _you_ from getting lost. I know that. I'm going to help you."

Cobb couldn't help but squeeze her hand in return, still watching her, and there was a faint flash in the distance. Lightning. "We better go back," he whispered.

She agreed, but just as he began to rise, she kept her hold on his hand. "Cobb," she said quietly.

He looked back at her, puzzled.

"I'm sorry, too." Ariadne gave him a small, timid smile. "I'm sorry that I was an insufferable girl who knew nothing and got caught in the worst situations."

"That wasn't your fault – "

"Yes, it was. I never should have taken that first assignment Miles gave me. I never should have gotten on that train."

"I never should have done the Cross job, then."

Another flash, with a burst of thunder three seconds later. "Ariadne, we have to go, or else it'll start pouring on us."

She looked up, startled. "Geez, I didn't know it was starting to storm so hard. You're right, let's go."

They left the arbor just as it began to drizzle lightly, and Cobb asked her, "So we're alright?"

"We're alright," she assured him.

"If I were you," he pondered aloud, "I'd be ready to just about quit and never look back. I haven't exactly been the nicest person."

"That was four years ago," she replied, walking alongside him through the light rain. "And you know what? I shouldn't forgive you. You want to know the truth?"

"The truth would be nice."

There was a flash of lightning in the distance. Still, she tilted her head up to look up at his towering frame, and said, "I shouldn't forgive you because you had the potential to ruin my life. But you didn't. You fixed it and you introduced me to a life-altering reality – or fantasy, really – and you gave me hope that there is something to do in this life. You took back your cruel taunts and you mended my life back together, and then sealing it with something extra – in all actuality, Cobb," she added, looking away, "you're kind of my angel."

Cobb guffawed loudly as the rain began to fall at a steady downpour. It was an odd thing to say, but they were adults and could handle it.

"Don't laugh! I know it's cheesy!" Ariadne hugged her arms to her chest and ducked her head to avoid the heavy drops of rain. "But – I had this dream once. I remember it clear as day. And I think you were in it. Don't do that," she said pleadingly as he began to chuckle again. "Don't! I'm not kidding, Cobb, and I know how weird this must sound, but you've got to understand why I'm suddenly so ready to forgive you."

"It's not weird," he told her, still smiling widely. "You've just – you've made me genuinely feel good about something in the longest time. We're okay, Ariadne. You don't have to explain yourself anymore. I'm glad I could be your – " Here, he grinned wickedly. " – _angel_."

And they both laughed as people passed by them, running with umbrellas through the rain, looking at them strangely. It wasn't until someone yelled, _"Pourquoi vous restez içi? Allez!" _that they decided to head on back to the warehouse.

* * *

Eames knew Arthur. He knew Cobb. Hell, he knew Mal before she died. He had yet to get to know Ariadne, but he could tell one thing for certain – she was good. Sure, she was stubborn and maybe a bit too nosy for his liking, but he couldn't completely judge her for that (especially when he, himself, wandered around stalking others and impersonated them in dreams – _that_ was nosy).

He also knew that Ariadne was a hell of a devoted girl. After many aching inquiries (by aching, he literally meant his head hurt from the amount of times Arthur slammed his research binder on Eames's head), Arthur had finally explained the whole ordeal, et cetera, and Ariadne's memory loss. And, of course, when she got her memory back. Eames had to hand it to her – she was one dedicated architect.

Speaking of which, she and Cobb had been gone for a while.

"Arthur," said Eames to the point man, who shot him a deathly glare, "where exactly did Cobb and Ariadne go again?"

"Ariadne's apartment. Remember?"

Eames _knew _there'd been some tension! Good for those two, and even though Ariadne was a bit young, he had to admit Cobb needed a new lady for over a year now –

The door to the warehouse pulled open and in walked Ariadne and Cobb, soaking wet and smiling ridiculously. Well, that proved Eames's point.

"Jesus, Cobb!" exclaimed Arthur, shaking his head and leaping from his chair. "You couldn't have changed, first? What on earth made you go outside without an umbrella?"

"And there he goes," Eames said to Ariadne, who grinned at him while hugging herself and shivering. Eames observed as the point man rushed to the back of the warehouse and gathered a few towels before adding, "That's his mother-mode, right there. Get used to it, love."

"Be nice," said Cobb warningly.

"And in case you haven't noticed, Cobb has a father-mode," Eames continued, undeterred. "It's a wonder he and Darling didn't get together – "

"_EAMES!" _shrieked Arthur, coming back with an armful of towels and wrapping Ariadne in one. The towel nearly consumed her petite figure and she disappeared under the cloth, mumbling incoherently.

"But it's _true – _"

"So help me God, I will hit you again and again until your head explodes from pain," said Arthur vehemently.

"Does he always act like this?" Ariadne's voice emerged from under the towel, and her head appeared a second later. Cobb, knowing she was referring to Arthur, replied, "Only with Eames."

"Because Eames doesn't know when to shut his mouth!"

"Yeah, I'm a right old _prick,_ aren't I, darling?"

"Hold it!" said Cobb suddenly.

They all froze.

"I know you're enjoying this," said Cobb, looking around at Eames, Arthur, and Ariadne, "but I need to speak with Arthur for a little bit. Eames, teach Ariadne a little or something. Get to know each other."

Arthur rolled his eyes at Eames and walked away with Cobb to the back of the warehouse; Ariadne towel-dried her hair and wrapped another towel around her shoulders, sitting patiently in front of the forger.

"Aren't you nervous you're here with me instead of your boyfriend?" asked Eames.

"What?" said Ariadne, furrowing her eyebrows. "I don't have a boyfriend."

"Right," said Eames knowingly as a scarlet blush erupted on Ariadne's cheeks. At least she had emotions. When Cobb first described her to Eames, all he could think about was a robot. Eames decided (officially) that he liked Ariadne. She was smart and dedicated and maybe, she'd be the one to get Cobb back on track.

Ariadne said firmly, "Don't we have some work to do?"

"Thanks for reminding me, love," said Eames. "What do you know about forging?"

* * *

"What? You're kidding. Cobb, you're out of your mind."

"I want to see it," said Cobb.

"I won't let you," Arthur shot back.

"Give me the damn blueprint, Arthur."

Arthur bit his cheek and fumbled through the samples of Ariadne's work. "I don't know why you'd want to see it. I think you're overthinking something. You always overthink, anyway. Whatever – here it is." He snapped it out of the pile and pushed it into Cobb's hands.

Cobb opened the Cross Job's architectural layout, looking around the notes on the margins. "Christ," he said after a minute or so.

"What?"

"Mal knew Ariadne more than I did, in some ways," he said. "I have to talk to her again."

"What? Cobb, you're losing me."

"Too many similarities for comfort? That's what it says here. My French has deteriorated a lot, but I know what this says. What was Mal doing? Stalking Ariadne? Jesus, Arthur. I don't understand."

"It'll make it easier to get over her," said Arthur awkwardly – he never exactly dwindled in relationships.

"No, it's not," said Cobb brokenly. "I miss her, Arthur. I miss Mal. I want her back. But you know what else? I feel terrible… and I'm not supposed to feel this way, Arthur, I'm not. It'll impede in our job."

"Cobb?" questioned Arthur uncertainly.

"I… I want them both," said Cobb. "But – "

"Cobb, Mal is dead. Ariadne is off-limits," said Arthur firmly, before adding, "For now, anyway."

"No, no, not like that. I feel terrible that I want Mal back but that she'll hurt Ariadne. It's unavoidable."

"Focus on it _later_, Cobb," said Arthur. "I can't believe I'm telling you this, of all people. Just – please try to keep your mind on the inception, alright?"

Cobb watched him for a moment, before turning his eyes to Eames and Ariadne at the front of the warehouse. "Alright," he said quietly after a moment.

"Good. Now," said Arthur, "Saito called and he's going to drop by tomorrow to get some plans done with you and Eames."

"Thank you," said Cobb.

Arthur turned to join Eames and Ariadne and to work on his research, but Cobb called, "Arthur, you're really the best brother anyone could ask for."

"Same to you, Cobb," Arthur said, feeling his lips quirk into a small smile. "What are brothers for, anyway?"

And he left Cobb to his own.

* * *

**Translations:**

**Pedestrian to Cobb and Ariadne, in the rain: "Why are you still here? Go!"**

**God. I am so sorry. I've had a huge writer's block and along with school, I had hardly any time to write. Thankfully it's break for me, so I have some time. I wanted to get this out by Christmas – sorry about that. :|**

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It was kinda rushed for me, so I'll try harder on the next one. If you're still reading this story and you haven't given up hope for me yet – yay! Y'all are mah besties :) Review? **


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer:** No, Inception does not and never will belong to me. I simply take Christ Nolan's brain children and educate them in the art of fanfiction acting.

Like they need the help anyway… :P

**Notes: **Thank you all for the wonderful reviews! Hope you all enjoy the next chapter :) Also, hello? Cobb/Ariadne fics out there? Waiting to be published? You can get published, you know, you don't have to… get permission… we're seriously lacking :P

* * *

"Wait, so you just – did you just _pickpocket _him?"

"Here, take this," said Eames, handing Ariadne the wallet and grinning maliciously.

"You can't pickpocket someone! That's _rude!_"

"Not when they don't know you're doing it, love."

"Eames! Give me back my wallet!"

"Oops. He's coming." The forger quickly took the wallet from Ariadne's unsuspecting hand and tucked it into her purse.

"_Eames!"_

"Eames, for the love of God," came Cobb's voice from behind them, "don't pull off stunts when we're not actually on the job."

Ariadne whirled around just as Cobb took her flashy purse and fished around in it, pulling out the wallet. Eames groaned and stepped away as Arthur marched over and took the wallet from Cobb, glaring bullets at the forger, and saying through gritted teeth, "You have a lot of nerve."

"I'm teaching Ariadne valuable advice."

"Stop," said Cobb.

"Teaching her – ? Pickpocketing someone isn't a valuable trick!"

"Let's see you get important information within the dream, then!"

"Stop!" Cobb ordered.

"They're all shoved up your chauvinist ass!"

"Didn't stop you before!"

"_Eames!"_ said Cobb loudly, echoing Ariadne's earlier cry.

"What?" said Eames, his demeanor shifting quickly to an innocent façade.

Before any of them could say anything, there was a loud giggle and Ariadne stumbled against Arthur, laughing. Arthur sighed, and Eames noted with pleasure that the point man's lips quirked upward ever so slightly, that his eyes gleamed at the good-natured fun – just like they used to when they met up with each other when they were younger, more naïve, more – more –

"Ariadne," said Cobb helplessly, "we have work to do…"

The architect composed herself and stood straight, patting Arthur on the forearm, and Cobb continued, "By the way – nice casual look on the buildings. Where'd your inspiration come from?"

"Australia," said Ariadne, as Eames tried to not-so-subtly take Arthur's wallet once more.

Cobb nodded in approval. "Good thinking."

Ariadne beamed while Arthur slapped Eames's hand away from his pocket.

"Arthur, can you take Eames to somewhere that suits his habitat a little more?" said Cobb irritably, motioning not-so-subtly to a pub further down the street.

Arthur silently took hold of Eames's forearm and pulled him violently toward the pub, leaving Cobb and Ariadne in their wake; the two of them were inside the pub within seconds and Eames looked around at the projections, who mingled in front of the bar casually with drinks in their hands.

"You're honestly going to leave them out there alone?" said Eames.

"They can handle themselves," said Arthur. He did a double take after a second and added, "What're you implying?'

"You know full well."

"I don't," said Arthur weirdly. Eames eyed him as he walked to the bar and got two drinks, and the forger noticed his comrade's tense shoulders through his vest.

"Oh, come on!" said Eames. "By the time this is through – or maybe before – I _guarantee_ you – "

"Guarantee me what?" said Arthur tersely. If there was a prize for being as stiff as a block of wood, Arthur would win it by a milestone. "Guarantee me _what, _Eames? That Phillipa and James will call Ariadne their mother after this is all over? That I have to attend their wedding? Is that what you're saying?"

"What're _you _saying?" Eames retorted. "Are you jealous?"

"No, I – "

"If you want Ariadne for yourself, take her!" The playful tone from earlier had vanished. Eames felt a large knot forming in his chest and he repeated, "Take her!"

"I don't _want her,"_ said Arthur hotly.

An unimaginable idea formed in the forger's mind. "D'you want Cobb then? Is that what you're – "

"God no!" Arthur's response had turned from vehemence to resignation, and he added on after a moment of silence, "Ariadne… she… understands him better."

_Oh._

Eames felt like a downright prick, especially since he'd known that Cobb and Arthur had known each other for forever and that they were like brothers. And Arthur felt useless. Now that Ariadne had come, Cobb had begun to open up to her (which, in Eames's head, was a very good thing), and Arthur, who had never understood quite what Cobb was going through after Mal's death, was cast aside.

No, he wasn't cast aside! Eames would bet his entire forging career that Arthur, in many aspects, was as important to Cobb as Mal had been, and that Cobb would be able to talk to him in many ways that he couldn't talk to Ariadne.

He voiced this opinion to Arthur after a long silence, with the exception of projections talking vaguely to each other in the background. The point man looked at him with wide eyes, then casted his look to the bar and said, "Thanks, Eames."

"Not going to yell at me this time, love?"

Arthur's brows furrowed and he replied with a cock of his head, "As much as our banter is amusing, Mr. Eames, at a point in time, we have to stop jumping down each other's throats."

"The first step in that is to call me _Will,_ darling."

"Dream for that all you like, you'll never hear it from me," said Arthur.

"Shall I call you Mr. Darling, then?"

A second later, Eames's newly acquired drink had been turned over his head, and he found himself asking the projection of a poor bartender for one more, only to dump this over Mr. Darling's own slickly-gelled back hair; the two of them, the tops of their heads dripping with beer, grinned at each other, and Eames quickly took the opportunity to revel in the déjà-vu he felt from years ago, when he'd been so unabashedly in love with Arthur Darling, and was irrevocably still.

* * *

It was those eyes.

Eyes as deep and as masked as the sea: unwilling to show what lay beneath it and swirling with mysteries and complexities. Eyes that, compared to four years ago, had changed so much, just like the ocean in a single second.

He took her around the dream, teaching her the different characteristics of fantasy architecture, and brainstorming what might be best to work with in Robert Fischer's mind. Eames's projections were harmless and happy, and she and Cobb were able to wander through the small crowds with no trouble whatsoever. However relaxed Ariadne was, though, Cobb seemed to be completely the opposite. He looked cautiously (perhaps he was even the slightest bit afraid) around each corner, each alleyway, and as they passed projections he examined them as though he expected them to tear themselves apart and reveal to him his deadly wife.

Which, Ariadne guessed, was exactly what he was afraid of.

She was glad they'd gotten over their mishap – no, what was she saying? It wasn't a mishap, nor was it a mistake, or anything of the sort. In fact, she was glad it had happened, that she had known him earlier. If not, she wouldn't have understood anything. She would have drowned in those eyes of his. Those terrifyingly wishful, deceiving eyes.

However – she made herself focus on the task at hand – though they had spoken about it and she had forgiven him for whatever he'd done, she was worried about him. She couldn't deny that. Cobb looked petrified as he walked, and she couldn't help but lay a hand on his arm and say, "She won't attack."

"Oh, Ariadne," he said, looking at her with those terribly changing eyes, "I know she won't, but even when I know she won't, she happens to show me that whatever I know is wrong."

She realized then that if she had been any other person, and he had told her that, she probably would not have understood his meaning at all. But she did. Arthur's words rang true throughout her mind. "_I keep forgetting you sometimes know more about Cobb than I do, really."_

Yeah. She kept forgetting, too, and in more ways than just her accident. At first, she was unwilling to accept any similarities between them. Now… she welcomed it. Because she'd be able to help him.

"Really good style of arches here, Ariadne," continued Cobb in the meanwhile. "It's very natural and fits seamlessly into the building, but also has individual style. That's good. Oh – " He stopped, looking up at a couple windows above the arch, and said, "The frame of the window could be a little more dialed down in extravagance, though. I see what you're trying to do with it, but it's a bit eye popping."

He peered closer at the window, at the swishing curtains behind it – Ariadne thought for a second he would comment on the design of the fabric before he visibly tensed and looked around haphazardly, looking disconcerted.

"Cobb?"

"Nothing, nothing, let's go," he said quickly.

Cobb took hold of her arm and gently pulled her through the crowds, but not before she turned her head behind them and saw a wisp of long blond hair disappear into an alleyway.

The extractor looked down at his watch after a few minutes. "We're almost done here," he said. "Is there anything you want to talk about regarding the dream's architecture? We want to make sure Fischer feels as comfortable as possible in this first dream."

"If I come across anything, I'll let you know," she said.

Cobb ran a hand over his slicked back hair and said, "We're going to have to get Arthur and Eames. Let's go."

"I can't stay here?" Why couldn't she look around a bit more? Besides, it wasn't like they were going to wake up in different places.

He seemed distracted by something behind her, and she said, "Earth to Cobb – hello?" She twisted around to direct his gaze and traced it to a school's playground.

"Sorry," he said hurriedly. "Come on."

They left with Ariadne looking behind her, scrambling for an explanation for his odd behavior.

* * *

"Ariadne did well with this bar," said Eames. "Little touches of Australia everywhere. Fischy's going to be delighted."

"_Fischer,"_ retorted Arthur, "will most likely not set foot in this bar."

The bartender looked up at them dazed eyes before catching a gaze behind them of another projection. "What can I get'cha, sweet pea?"

"Just some white wine," said a sultry, French-touched voice behind the forger and the point man. "If Australia serves it."

"We don't, not here," said the bartender as Eames looked at Arthur in alarm. "Would you maybe fancy something else?"

Mal shook her head, leaning between Arthur and Eames and cupping the latter's cheek with her well-manicured hand. "_Non, merci,_ I think I will make a rendezvous with these two gentlemen here."

"Mal?" said Eames in astonishment. "Bloody hell through a pile of rat turd – _what on Earth?"_

She pulled out a pistol and set it in front of her. While Arthur simply closed his eyes and seemed to be praying to the heavens, Eames looked furiously at the door before glaring at the French woman with all his might, trying to take her apart, to decipher what the _hell_ was going on.

"Where's Cobb?" spat Eames, attempting to keep control. This was pathetic. He was a forger – an actor – and he could hardly keep his hands from shaking. Was she just a simple projection? Was she here to kill them?

Mal's eyebrow rose and she trailed a finger on the counter next to her pistol. "Oh, he's helping a little lamb," she cooed.

"Mal, you should leave," said Arthur. "Cobb won't be happy you're here."

"I won't do anything," she promised, picking up the pistol and examining it under the bar's dim light. "I'm just – " She clicked the safety off. " – _la surveillante."_

She smiled at Arthur before turning to face Eames, who was staring at the counter in horror.

"And how are you, _William?"_ she said, leaning closer. "Last I saw you, you were with three lovely young ladies in Los Angeles…"

"Then I moved to England, _love,"_ he snarled.

A blink later, he had transformed into a seething Cobb, and he whispered, "_Leave and never come back."_

"You can't stop me," said Mal, and Arthur was too late in stopping her from shooting the forger in the chest – immediately, the figure of Cobb morphed back into a dead Eames with blood seeping from a hole in his torso, and Arthur kept bile down in his throat as she turned to him.

"You shot him," he breathed, his stomach clenching. She'd shot him because he changed, because he transformed and Arthur's subconscious had realized that someone was changing the dream – and yet, Mal wasn't part of his subconscious. So why –

"You used to be lovely," said the point man. "What happened?"

"The wonder of dreams," she said, smiling with gleaming teeth. "Not so innocent now, are we? Your _papa_ would be disappointed in you… I'm not, though. _Je t'aime,_ Arthur."

She aimed the pistol at his head and he closed his eyes.

* * *

He woke up with a start, and Eames tossed him a water bottle with barely held-in anger.

"Calm down," said Arthur, sitting up. "Cobb and Ariadne will wake up soon, since I was shot. The dream's collapsing for them."

"I don't get it," said the Brit, shaking his head. "When did this start happening?"

"Ever since she died."

"Well, that shouldn't matter – what, does he feel guilty or something?"

_Maybe. _Arthur remembered the Cross job – his father had appeared in the dream and he'd lost all control. After that, Arthur attempted to steel himself from feelings as much as possible, except from Cobb and Eames. His father had nearly destroyed the job, all because Arthur felt… guilty.

Guilty that he hadn't told them to wait while he walked from Cobb's house to the party to drive them home – he would have been able to – and instead allowed them to drive home, because they were _responsible,_ because they were adults and knew what was right and wrong, because they were drinking and were intoxicated and died the instant they crashed into a car in the opposite lane, leaving the driver of the other car paralyzed from the waist down.

Essentially, he'd killed them. If only he'd told them to wait, if only he'd been the good son.

"Yes," said Arthur tonelessly, not willing to let what he'd shut out pain him again. "He probably feels guilty."

With that, Cobb and Ariadne woke at the same time, the former swallowing and sitting up quickly, as stiff as a board, and the latter gasping and writhing on the lawn chair.

"God _dammit," _said Cobb, tearing the needle from his arm; in a flash, he was up and marching away to the back of the warehouse, slamming the door of a storage room behind him, leaving Arthur and Eames to pick Ariadne up and ask her what had happened.

"I don't _know," _she said, heaving with air. "One s-second we were walking back to get _you_ two, and then all of a sudden everything just started shaking and then _she _came out of _nowhere _– "

The point man left Eames there to keep her company, leaving to face Cobb, the deranged _madman_ of a friend he had.

"What _was_ that?" Arthur demanded, slamming the door shut. "Are you serious right now, Cobb? If you screw this job up – we cannot screw this up, Cobb, especially if you want even the slightest chance of getting back to James and Phillipa."

"Stop," Cobb moaned; he was sitting on the floor with his face in his hands. "Stop it – I'm sorry, I'm sorry, stop…"

"If you're not fit to lead this team to do this job, we might as well not do it at all!"

"_Please, I'm sorry – "_

"We have enough guilt on this team; we don't need any more – get it together, please, for your sake and ours!"

There was no response from Cobb this time, only him with his face in his hands in silence.

"Look," said Arthur, trying to muster as much patience as possible. "I'm trying to help you."

Cobb refused to look up.

"You're my _brother_, Dom. Tell me what's going on."

The extractor looked at him beneath messy hair, his eyes tired and distraught. "I can't, Arthur," he said brokenly. "You were as bad as me."

"You and Mal _helped _me!"

"But you can't help me with this," said Cobb, shaking his head and moving his hands to his lap, staring at the floor. "I'm a monster. I'm a monster."

And Arthur felt as useless as he did when he'd seen his father pleading him to stop, to leave Alex Cross alone. He didn't know how to help.

"If – " Arthur swallowed, before telling himself to get it together. "If you need anything at all, Cobb, just… let me know."

He left Cobb in the storage room before leaving, closing the door gently and finding Eames and Ariadne waiting on the lawn chairs, composed yet still tense.

"Is he okay?" Ariadne inquired, peering at the door Arthur had just shut.

"No," said Arthur honestly.

Without a glance at him or Eames, Ariadne stood, made her way to the room, and shut the door.

* * *

"Cobb?"

"Ariadne?" was Cobb's response, tired and disturbed.

"You're not okay," she said, sitting on the floor in front of him.

He made an unintelligible noise.

"If you need anything – "

"You sound like Arthur," he said tersely, looking at her with hooded eyes.

She opened her mouth to respond, but the only thing she could come up with was unhelpful. "What do you need?"

"I need to be alone," he said.

Ariadne's gaze shifted to the floor, and she replied, "Okay."

She left him on the floor, feeling as useless as ever, and resolved to helping him no matter what. If Arthur couldn't do it, she'd find a way. She shut the door in order to leave Cobb and his thoughts alone.

* * *

**Bleh.**

**And it took me so long to get this out. And I don't like it. Oh, well. **

**Hope you review!**

**Saito's in the next chapter. **

**:)**


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Inception. Nuh uh, no way, I don't own anything whatsoever. I mean… come on. Try asking me about anything intelligent and I'll just vomit unintelligent words in your face. But Nolan? For God's sake, he can vomit up mashed potatoes and it'd be a masterpiece of a movie. Just saying.

**Notes: **jesus I am so sorry like legitimately I don't even know what happened. Actually, I do know, and that was school. But it's over now AND IT'S SUMMERTIME. HALLELUJAH. Expect some regular updates from now on! Well, hopefully… I have a lot of community service to do.

* * *

Eames had always been one who could see more than he let on. He was an actor, and he took pride in being able to cover things up easily. But he had never – _never –_ thought that Mal would be haunting Cobb's dreams, infiltrating jobs and sending Cobb and Arthur on the run from Cobol. The revelation was, in all honesty, one of the few things that actually shook Eames up in a terrible way. He was normally a very quick thinker, much more than he let on, but this had left him stupefied in shock.

"_What, does he feel guilty or something?"_ Eames had inquired out of Arthur in the heat of the moment, right after waking up from one of the test dreams.

"_Yes," _the point man had responded monotonously, staring at Eames with blank eyes. _"He probably feels guilty."_

Oh, Arthur.

Eames slowly twirled a pen around his thumb as he watched Arthur take apart a pistol and put it back together over and over again; his hands seemed to work mechanically, going through the motions without the thoughts, and Eames was reminded of just how much Arthur had grown to rely on weapons.

When Arthur had been younger – way younger – he hadn't been so… robotic. He'd been clumsy with water guns and could hardly hold a slingshot without trembling, while Cobb and Eames, fairly older than Arthur, could talk and talk and talk about violence and guns and shooting games without getting green in the face. Eames could remember the day Cobb called him with a somber tone dripping in his voice, a quiet, newfound responsibility revealed in his words.

"_Arthur's parents were killed in a car crash," _the college attendee had said at the time. _"He's really… ah... rather, extremely reserved at the moment, so… I would suggest leaving him alone. He'll be living with me for a while until he goes to college."_

That had been that, and Eames left it alone. He hadn't questioned Arthur's silent transformation into a restricted and reserved young teenager.

When Arthur had come back from a job which had gone almost completely haywire in Paris a few years back, he had been more mechanical than ever. The point man was on autopilot all day every day for the next year, and whenever the topic of that specific job came up, Arthur would stare blankly at Eames – rather, _through_ Eames – and say, "Which job? I'm afraid I don't understand."

Whenever Eames mentioned the job to their dear extractor, however, Cobb would pay no heed and would watch Mal lovingly – that is, until she passed away. After that, all thoughts of the years with Mal right before her death seemed to escape his mind, and he could only remember his sorrow and his guilt, as Arthur put it ever so mildly. It was as if the job never existed to him, and Eames learned not to mention Paris in front of the extractor.

Finally, Arthur seemed to tire of continuously taking his pistol apart and putting it back together. He set it down on the table and folded his hands on his lap, expressionless.

"I could go for a good poker game right now," said Eames.

The attempt to bring the point man's eyes on him was lost, and Eames rolled his eyes. "Come on, darling, let's get out of this boring warehouse."

"I'm not bored," said Arthur stalely.

"You are the epitome of boredom, my dear."

Arthur finally looked up at him, eyebrows raised.

"We could watch a movie, you know," Eames continued. "A French one. I thought French movies were your type. You like the sadder endings. No 'happy ever after' ending is good for you. Didn't you always complain about the Disney movies that Cobb stocked up on back in college, love?"

"I just think French movies have more emotion," said Arthur. "They're a lot more interesting than people always blowing stuff up."

Eames winced. "Yes, of course you do."

Arthur didn't say anything else. Instead, he proceeded to grab the pistol in front of him and take it apart once more.

"Okay, stop, stop, _stop,"_ said Eames, leaning over and snatching the pistol out of the point man's hands. "I am not going through another hour of you just sitting there, taking apart that bloody, _puny_ gun of yours."

Arthur glared at him, folding his hands again and pursing his lips. Eames sighed and set the pistol down on an empty chair beside him, then looking at Arthur with his head cocked to the side. "Come on. Let's go do something before Saito gets here. When's he coming? He's bound to be here in the next few hours or so."

Arthur rolled his eyes and pushed his chair back before standing. "Fine. Where do you want to go? I'd rather go to a butcher shop and chop you up, if you don't mind, and I'll gladly have my weapon back, Eames."

"You're a right old prat," said Eames. "We're not going to a place with a bunch of knives. First of all, love, you are _frightening_ with a knife and I'd rather die by Cobb's arse of a projection than you wielding a machete, thank you very much. Secondly, no, you will not have your little toy gun back. We're going to get you something better. I'm sure there's an illegal gun shop somewhere in Paris."

There was a grunt from Arthur before the door to the warehouse opened and Ariadne walked in, hoisting a small bag on her shoulder. "Hey, guys," she said wearily.

"We didn't even notice you leaving earlier," said Arthur. "You look exhausted."

She shrugged the bag off of her shoulder and onto a chair at a table. "Just went for a stroll. But yeah, I'm tired."

Eames could see it in her face, too. The exhaustion and the overall fatigue reflected in her eyes like a fogged window. Arthur seemed to notice it as well and he crossed his arms over his chest, saying, "Ariadne, you have to just leave him alone. He's going to get over it. It happens every once in a while."

"Every once in a while?" she said. "Looks to me it's a lot more than – "

"_Every once in a while?"_ parroted Eames. "What? Are you serious? This is a recurring thing? Lord, I'm going to shoot Cobb. I did not get dragged into this to have him spending hussy-time with his dead wife. What's he doing now? If he's busy snogging her in his sleep then I sure as hell wouldn't mind kicking his sorry bum to – "

Ariadne, flushing a deep red, said, "Eames, don't say that!"

There was a groan from the warehouse door, and all three of them turned to face the noise. Cobb, holding his head in one hand, grunted unintelligibly and then said, "Eames, why on Earth are you speaking so _loudly?"_

Eames wisely shut his mouth as Arthur shook his head, reproving the forger silently.

"Um – Cobb, maybe you should take a bit of the day off until Saito gets here," Ariadne told him, the caution in her voice very noticeable.

However, Cobb moved closer to the three of them and decided to sit at the table from which Arthur and Eames had just stood from. It was extremely obvious to Eames that Cobb was attempting to conceal – unsuccessfully, might he add – the headache that was clouding his senses. "I'm fine," said Cobb in a low voice, struggling to keep his eyes open to the warehouse lights, only further proving Eames's theory.

"You look like hell, love," said Eames.

"Eames, stop," said Arthur staidly.

Cobb held up a hand and Arthur, Eames, and Ariadne watched him carefully as he lifted his eyes to the three of them. "Yusuf's starting today, too," said Cobb, blinking rapidly. "So I can't just sit around and wait for him to show up. I need to get ready – "

All of a sudden, he groaned and leaned forward on the table, resting on his forearms, and muttering, "Okay, okay, fine, just go, please, just go."

Eames understood that if they didn't leave him to his own, Cobb's frustration would fuel his headache and they could _not_ have that happen. Evidently, Arthur seemed to gather that as well, but judging by Ariadne's perplexed, wide-eyed stare toward the extractor, she didn't get it.

Arthur moved forward to take her out of the room, but Eames shook his head at him. _Let her stay here,_ he mouthed.

Arthur looked at Ariadne, who was standing with an odd expression flitting over and over again across her features. Finally, he moved toward Eames, pausing only to look him in the eyes.

Eames was taken away by the amount of somberness he saw polluting Arthur's own expression. It was one of the few moments Arthur was open about his emotions.

And Eames could tell that he wanted to be with Cobb, to comfort him like a brother, to take care of him, to repay him for the lifetime of love the older extractor had given to the younger dreamer. In that second, Arthur was a child who only wanted to help.

Eames couldn't help but feel lucky that Arthur trusted him enough to express that want to him. As Arthur turned away and walked to the doors of the warehouse, Eames followed, and they left the nearly empty building to Cobb and Ariadne's own.

* * *

"Cobb?"

The result was a silence broken only by Cobb's shifting fingers, clenching and unclenching in discomfort. Ariadne moved forward, sitting beside him and leaning on the table with one elbow, looking at Cobb's bent head and how the light from the bright warehouse's windows fell onto his dark golden hair, giving it the impression that ocean sand had been sloshed onto him.

"Do you want some tea or something?"

"I'm _okay,_ Ariadne," came Cobb's groan of pain. Ariadne coughed in order to hide her small smile.

"Eames is right, you know," she said after a moment. "You _do_ look like hell."

"That's comforting," slurred Cobb, keeping his head bowed.

Ariadne sat quietly for a minute, watching his fingers twitch as he resisted holding his head to deal with his headache. She thought of his pain, of the dark circles under his eyes, of his hesitation to show weakness in front of her and the others.

"You know," she began gently, "I had this dream once. I told you about it a few days ago. It was a natural dream. I won't have more of those in a few months, I'm sure, but I'm going to treasure the ones I do have. I know that the one I had a while back was really important to me."

He gave a small groan of acknowledgment.

"Anyway – I think this was around the time you found me," said Ariadne. "The second time, I mean, not the first time. Sometime after Cherbourg. You were in my dream, y'know that? I told you I thought it was you, but now I know it was you."

He looked up at her finally, his eyes reeking of exhaustion and stress. "I was there?" he inquired loosely, struggling to look at her through the bright lights of the warehouse.

"You were," she confirmed. "You were an angel. Remember? I told you that." She added the last part with a laugh, smiling at him. "But I meant it, you know, the dream I told you about. Mal was holding you back. I had no idea who she was. This was before I got my memories back, but I remember now that Mal was there. She held you back from your children. You've got to let her go, Cobb," she finished. "Please. It's only corrupting you."

His eyes quickly shifted to anger, and in seconds he was out of his chair, his hands clenched tightly by his sides. "Listen," he said venomously. "Listen, Ariadne. We may have resolved a bunch of things between us but it's not that easy to let go of someone I love. Okay? You don't know anything about what happened so just – don't interfere! Just don't!"

"I'm trying to _help_ you!" she said defensively. "Cobb, please!"

"I understand that," said Cobb, and the anger faded a bit. "But for now, I can't take it. I don't want to drag you in this. I can't. I don't – "

She saw his invisible walls break behind his eyes, and she understood what he wanted to say before he said it. Before he stopped himself.

_I don't want to lose you._

She swallowed and nodded once, only very slightly.

"I don't either," she said. She had no idea what prompted her to say it.

All of a sudden, his demeanor completely shifted. "You – wait – really?"

There was a long moment of silence before Ariadne's eyes lowered to the ground. "If I didn't feel like that, I wouldn't have stayed here. But I'm going to do everything in my power to keep you here."

"Thank you," he said sincerely, his voice hoarse. "I – I think I'll take that tea now."

Ariadne's lips quirked upward and she pulled up her purse onto her shoulder before walking outside of the warehouse to get some tea.

* * *

It was three in the afternoon when there was a knock on the front door of the warehouse. Granted, Cobb felt much better after having a hot cup of tea in his hands – a much needed change from the usual black coffee he took – but he was still groggy and slightly irate. He was just about to get up from the table (where he'd been sitting for the past two hours after Ariadne abided by his wish to have some more alone time) to open the door when Ariadne beat him to it, sitting up from her spot at the other end of the warehouse to save him the trouble.

She looked through the window. "It's an Asian man in a suit," she said. "Is that Saito?"

"Yeah, open the door," said Cobb, rising from the chair to stretch his legs and to greet their new guest.

Ariadne opened the door wide enough so that Cobb could see Saito standing primly outside the warehouse. The Japanese man spotted Cobb as he walked up behind his architect, and Saito said, "Mr. Cobb! Hello. This must be your new architect you told me about."

"This is her," said Cobb in confirmation. "Ariadne, this is Daisuke Saito. Saito, this is Ariadne Bishop."

"A _pleasure," _said Saito, taking her extended hand and shaking it in acknowledgment. "Mr. Cobb said you are an extreme talent and a wonderful addition to the team."

"That was Arthur," said Cobb.

Saito smirked, moving into the warehouse and laying a comforting hand on Ariadne's shoulder. "I apologize. That _was_ Mr. Darling. Mr. Cobb is the one who said that he would kill Mr. Eames if he ever laid a single hand on you."

Cobb flushed a very violent shade of red as Ariadne looked at him confusedly.

"_That_ is something you should keep to yourself," said Cobb. "I don't want to seem to fatherly."

"Don't worry," said Saito reassuringly. "You don't seem fatherly in the _slightest bit."_

_Oh, for the love of God,_ thought Cobb. He could feel Ariadne's questioning glance on him as he clenched his teeth together and ground out, "Make yourself at home, Mr. Saito."

"I will, thank you," said the Japanese businessman. "May I ask where Mr. Eames and Mr. Darling are at the moment?"

"Something about finding a better gun for Arthur," said Ariadne, looking puzzled. "Wait, is his last name _actually_ Darling? I thought that was just Eames's name for him…"

"Yeah, that's his last name." Cobb was amused at how Ariadne's eyes lit up mischievously. Eames was rubbing off on her, he noticed. He couldn't help but feel better about that fact. If she was going to stay in the team, she needed someone to keep her sane while Arthur worked mechanically in the background and Cobb dealing with his own deteriorating subconscious.

_At least you admitted it,_ said a voice inside of him.

"Well," said Saito, bringing him back to the present. "I expect that they'll be joining us soon. I have some good reports on both Fischers for Mr. Eames especially, and I would like him to get those reports today."

Cobb led him to the table, where he'd been sitting earlier, and Saito sat down, looking around in what seemed like dry mirth. "This is your secret hideout?"

"It's not a hideout," Cobb protested, standing beside the table as Ariadne came to wait by his side.

"It's an abandoned warehouse." Saito drummed his fingers on the table. "It's a hideout."

Cobb said nothing, only letting his hands slide into the pockets of his slacks as he pivoted around to walk to one of the storage rooms of the warehouse. He heard Ariadne pull out a chair beside Saito, setting herself onto the chair and leaning forward on the table to ask the man some questions.

Closing the door of the storage room behind him, Cobb shook his head and ran a hand over his hair. He wasn't used to being so open with people, especially those who were so young. Ariadne had read him earlier today. As much as he wanted to focus on Saito, he couldn't. Maybe when Arthur and Eames arrived, he would be able to work, but at the moment, he seemed to have a malediction that caused Ariadne to run through his mind over and over and over again, on and off, on and off.

_Mal. Mal. Mal. _

He bit his lip in thought. He missed her terribly, and he wanted to speak with her again. To ease the pain of his guilt. To ease his headache. To hear her pleading him to stay with her, with Phillipa, with James, with the beach…

He remembered the day he'd proposed.

A day at the beach. The glittering Mediterranean Sea. They'd been finished with a job – one of their earlier ones – near Southern France, and they'd taken a detour to the golden, sun-kissed sands which were caressed by the tides of the sea every so often.

They dreamt together.

They dreamt of life, of love, of growing buildings and of France and of birds and clouds and oceans and each other.

He'd clasped her left hand in both of his own, kissing the tips of her fingers, enjoying her laughter, the freedom she showed only in front of him, her dream lover. He touched her ring finger, tracing her face with his eyes, smiling at her – perfection redefined, he declared inside himself. She was perfection.

"_Let's grow old together,"_ he'd told her. _"Let's grow old together, Mallorie."_

The dream had ended, and they'd woken up on the beach as he picked up a shell he'd laid conveniently by her side, letting a ring fall out of it and sliding it onto her finger.

And now, he could remember her desperate eyes the day she'd jumped.

_I don't want to lose you,_ he tried to convey as he begged her to step away from the ledge.

She hadn't been able to see that.

Cobb groaned and leaned against the wall, looking out the window of the storage room, his mind blearily noticing the fact that there was a thud in the main room where Saito and Ariadne were located – and a very loud "EAMES!" was heard throughout the warehouse.

He righted himself and the left the room to begin his meeting with Eames and Saito.

* * *

**Again, I'm so sorry for the lack of updates. I've been swamped with work from school and from band over and over and over again since the last time I'd updated. I'm so sorry! I still love Inception as much as I have since I'd first seen it, though it's clear that not many still appreciate it. I'm happy I can still contribute to it in the way that I can. I have several other one-shots lined up for Cobb/Ariadne, as well, and if some of you wish, I can whip up an Arthur/Eames-centric one-shot. Or Arthur/Ariadne, if you really want. I don't mind what I write. **

**Another reason why I haven't updated is because I've wanted to write for other fandoms, as well. This doesn't mean I will abandon Inception. Never! At some point, I will finish both AWKTS (this story) and TNE (Top Never Ending). After that, then I might let it go. But I will most likely continue writing small one-shots and drabbles dedicated to Inception. I do, however, have other interests that I would like to pursue. For example, I need to finish a 100-theme challenge that I began for Fullmetal Alchemist, which I had started when I was much younger. I have 30-some more chapters to go, but I will finish that soon, hopefully. I also want to start writing for other fandoms which I read constantly (and **_**have been**_** reading constantly), such as Pirates of the Caribbean, Avatar: The Last Airbender, Superman/Batman/Young Justice, The Legend of Zelda, The Hunger Games, Harry Potter, and other fandoms I really enjoy. I will start writing for these, but not until I figure out the paths for both AWKTS and TNE. So far, AWKTS is following the events in the movie, but as soon as the last scene of the movie is written, AWKTS will continue to resolve any further issues that could have resulted with Cobb or the other characters. Then, it will finish in its own way, which might possibly be around 10 or 20 chapters after the end of the 'movie ending.' TNE, however, is completely dependent on its own plot. That will actually have to be decided (I tend to have a problem with setting up plot). Once those are set up and I know how to write it out and I am steadily updating them, I will begin working on other fandoms. Once both AWKTS and TNE are finished, I might start another multi-chaptered Inception fanfic. It depends on both school and the other projects in works on the site. **

**I appreciate all of you who have stood by this story so far. I never thought I would actually make it to twenty chapters – that's a surprise to me! **

**I apologize for the lack of action in this chapter. The next will incorporate the meeting with Saito, Eames, and Cobb, as well as meeting Fischer. **

**Review please! :)**


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: **Nope, not mine. Thank you for thinking it was mine, though. It makes me feel a lot more talented. :D

* * *

Ariadne knew the best choice for her would be to probably join Cobb, Arthur, and Eames for the meeting with Saito, but the tiredness from earlier in the day was weighing down on her, causing her to stumble in exhaustion several times in the next few minutes. With a word of apology to Arthur – who pat her on the shoulder comfortingly and let her leave the room without a single complaint against her – she staggered out into the afternoon sun and was suddenly confronted by a fairly large, dark man who appeared out of place in the bright sunlight of Paris filtering through the windows of the warehouse.

"Sorry," said the man. He seemed to trip over his feet a couple times before catching himself and looking at her with a puzzled expression, before he grinned at her through his dark goatee. "Oh. Wait! You must be Ariadne!"

"Yes," said Ariadne confusedly.

"I'm _Yusuf!"_ he said with a bright smile.

Slowly blinking several times in succession, she let her eyes trail over him tiredly; he was sporting a large mud brown jacket that seemed far too warm for this time in Paris and his hands were shoved in his pockets; his pants seemed a bit on the short side, allowing his dull, tattered brown socks to show from under them, which were pulled up very high; his shoes seemed one size too small and very old. Not that Ariadne minded much, anyway, and she found it suited his fluffy-haired complexion. She felt herself relax slightly, looking back up at the man, who began to resemble a human-sized teddy bear to her.

Ariadne managed to utter a small greeting as he clapped to himself gleefully.

"I was so confused on my way here," said Yusuf. "I don't speak French. Obviously. Well, anyway, Eames told me to come here. Actually, it was Cobb, you see, but I couldn't really get in touch with him. Not quite sure why, but you know, he's always been a bit bizarre. Bloody dreaming, really. I don't really do much of it myself; I just kind of sit out and watch. I don't partake in those things. I've got a fear of it, to be honest."

Ariadne opened her mouth to offer some words, but he kept continuing in the same breath.

"In Mombasa, we don't really have teams and such; we just have people hooked onto PASIVs using my sedatives, which are really quite good," Yusuf explained quickly, wiping a hand at his nose for a second. "It's why Cobb asked me to come here, really. Well, he kind of made me. Gave me quite a bit of a reason to, I mean, he offered me basically – oh, but I'm not allowed to say," Yusuf added, biting his lip and frowning. He rubbed his neck sheepishly with a hand and looked down at the architect, who seemed to be stunned at how he said all of that in one breath.

"I talk a lot when I'm nervous," Yusuf offered, before promptly turning red. "Don't get me the wrong way, I have a wife and I love her and all, don't think I'm going to follow you around, that's Eames's job – I would know because I've worked with him a bit down in Mombasa – but the point is that I'm just a bit nervous because I haven't really worked in a big important team before, especially on something as important as this – bloody _hell_, is there any alcohol around here? Paris has alcohol, right? I could really use some – "

"Yusuf," Ariadne interjected, her fatigue wearing off somewhat as she began to grin in amusement. "Don't be nervous."

"Easy for you to – oh, I'm _sorry,"_ said Yusuf suddenly, a look of horror flashing onto his face before he cast his eyes solemnly to the ground. "Bollocks, really. I should have realized. Oh, well, it's what happens when I spend so much time with Eames. This is your first time! How are you so calm?"

How _was _she so calm? "I don't go in the dream anyway," said Ariadne, shrugging. She hadn't exactly thought about what would happen during the actual job. "The pressure of designing the layout is a bit overwhelming, and so far the nervousness hasn't exactly hit me yet, but Arthur has been more than willing to help."

Yusuf grinned at her, winking.

"More than willing to help _with the architecture,"_ said Ariadne firmly. "Besides, I'm pretty certain Arthur is gay."

She said it with such seriousness that Yusuf immediately stopped smiling, peering at her closely. "You don't think – oh, _I know exactly what's going on."_

Yusuf's smug smirk returned and Ariadne felt more comfortable than she had in days. She had a strong suspicion she and Yusuf were going to get along just fine.

* * *

Eames could remember when Saito had moved to the small table in the middle of the three of them, situated on a Parisian café's roof in the middle of Paris. He'd tossed a file in front of Cobb, a file in which Eames could tell held fascinating details about the Fischer family, which, to be honest, he'd never cared about until very recently.

"_Robert Fischer,"_ Saito had said calmly, looking down at the picture of Robert Fischer Jr. and his father. _"Heir to the Fischer Morrow Energy Corporation."_

"_What's your problem with this Mr. Fischer?"_ Cobb had inquired, taking the file in his own hands. Eames was looking at the tabletop in boredom before sighing and chewing on a fingernail – a habit Eames knew, after many failed attempts of quitting, that he'd never break.

"_That is not your concern,"_ the businessman had said coolly.

"_Mr. Saito," _Cobb had implored, fixing his eyes on the Japanese man._ "This – this isn't your typical corporate espionage. You – you asked me for inception. I do hope you understand the – the gravity of that request. The seed that we plant in this man's mind will grow into an idea. This idea will define him. It may come to change… it may come to change everything about him." _Eames remembered hearing Cobb's words fade, coming out of his mouth as though he hated the concept altogether.

Before he could focus on the distant look in the extractor's eyes, Saito had leaned forward, his attitude becoming slightly more pleading. _"We are the last company standing between them and total energy dominance. We can no longer compete," _said Saito._ "Soon, they'll control the energy supply of half the world. In effect, they'll become a new superpower!"_

Saito paused ever so slightly (at this, Cobb looked up), his brows furrowing, his hands clenching – and then he continued. "_The world needs Robert Fischer to change his mind."_

"_And that's,"_ Eames had begun, _"where we come in. How is… Robert Fischer's relationship with his father?" _He saw Cobb take a photo from the file. It depicted both Robert Fischer Jr. and his father, the latter who seemed far too busy to deal with his son. Eames reached over himself and grabbed another small stack of paper and saw a man who was neither Fischer Senior nor Fischer Junior.

Saito looked at him, leaning back. _"Rumor is the relationship is quite complicated."_

"_We can't work solely on rumor, can we?"_ said Cobb, off to the side, muttering as he looked through some sheets.

Eames had ignored the both of them. Normally he would make a sort of snide remark, but the man on the sheet in front of him – very important to both Fischers – gave him a fantastic idea. _"Can you get me access to this man here? Browning. Fischer Senior's right-hand man, Fischer Junior's godfather."_

He handed the packet of paper to Cobb, who looked down on it, his eyebrows knit tightly.

"_It should be possible, if you can get the right references," _Saito answered.

Eames smirked. _"References are somewhat of a specialty for me, Mr. Saito."_

And now Eames sat in a plane heading for Robert Fischer himself, flipping through pictures of Browning that Saito had provided for him; the man had a round face with thick white hair, obviously a charmer when he was younger. Eames hummed to himself approvingly. This would work well for him, and if all went well, he would get enough information about the relationship between the two Fischers and Browning himself.

He leaned back on the seat, looking out the plane's window, and for the thousandth time, thought on the effects this job would have. In all honesty, Eames had no desire for the job to be successful whatsoever – while he enjoyed pranks to a certain extent and would very much enjoy more money than he needed, he did not in any case want to intrude on anyone's mind. Extractions were one thing. But to perform inception – that was entirely different.

Inception! On an individual who had done virtually _nothing – _Eames could see no good in a job like that. _Of course, at least I have something to do other than lose all my money in Mombasa, _he thought mildly, chuckling to himself.

But, when he admitted it to himself, Eames knew the exact reason why he was going through with the job.

Cobb.

Cobb, who hadn't seen his children in two years. Cobb, who was on the run from the United States government for the 'murder' of his wife. Cobb, who would immediately be taken to prison if he returned to the country. Cobb, who, if he didn't go through with this job, had the potential of never, ever seeing his children again.

And no matter how much Eames hated violating other people, seeing someone he had known for so long and loved dearly become destroyed over never seeing his family again was something Eames couldn't stand to live with. Sure, there were opportunities his children _might_ obtain to see Cobb outside of the U.S., but their caretaker, Mal's mother and Miles's wife, Marie, was completely against Cobb himself and she would _never _in her life allow his children to see him.

There was a small touch on Eames's shoulder and he looked over to see a stewardess holding a tray of hot towels. She offered one to him, which he declined politely; he watched her make her way to the rest of the passengers, and he let himself ponder of the swing of her hips, the smile she offered to the people on board. He thought of Naomi, the all-too voluptuous beauty of Mombasa, and he thought of the last time he'd talked to her – right before Cobb took him out of the country and to Paris. To Arthur.

Eames turned his eyes away from the stewardess, taking a sip from his glass of water, and exhaled gently as he thought of the point man.

_No,_ he told himself. _No, it won't do to lie to yourself anymore, William._

He closed his eyes and, with a contented smile, let whatever dream that could come to him – whatever dream was even possible in this late stage of dream-sharing – to come, to whisk him away, to let him calm his nerves and to let him wonder what the end of this job would hold for him and his future and, ultimately, his point man's.

* * *

"The man of dreams himself," said Yusuf in greeting, giving a grand smile to Cobb as he shook his hand. "Pleasure to see you again, Mr. Cobb."

"Likewise," Cobb replied, looking between him and Ariadne. "I see you've met our new architect."

"Oh, yes!" Yusuf seemed incredibly enthusiastic about this fact. "We'll be getting along greatly."

At this, Cobb looked straight Ariadne, who seemed to have trouble keeping a straight face – Yusuf noticed this as well, and asked Cobb, "I heard you've kept Arthur Darling occupied?"

A strangled noise came from the architect. She was watching Cobb oddly, her lips twitching, and it looked as if she were inwardly murdering a smile to keep it from showing.

"More like he's kept himself occupied," Cobb corrected, confused, his eyes shifting from the chemist to Ariadne. "Uh – am I missing something?"

"Oh, nothing," she said shakily, waving it away. "Just agreeing with Yusuf. Arthur has kept himself very occupied."

"_Very_ occupied," Yusuf added. _"Extremely_ occupied."

"I think Eames has been rubbing off on you," said Cobb, turning away from them.

Yusuf scoffed behind Cobb's back. "That's not the _only _thing Eames has been rubbing off on – "

"Yusuf!" scolded Ariadne, whose face was threatening to split in half from her efforts of keeping her grin at bay.

Cobb twisted around to regard the two of them apprehensively, unsure of what had just happened, and he said slowly, "Please don't enlighten me on what you two talk about in your free time in the future." He turned away once more as Ariadne erupted into giggles, and knew right away that she would fit in with the team.

Yusuf set himself to gathering his wits; his demeanor shifted from mischievous to one of serious contemplation. "Have you set up an area for me to work?"

Thankfully, Cobb had. He and Arthur had devoted a large amount of their time in the past week gathering all the materials that Yusuf could possibly inquire for. Cobb led the chemist to his own corner of the warehouse, where tables were set up with whiteboards, flasks, equation sheets, chemicals - whatever the chemist might require was there.

"I am going to have fun with this," Yusuf said gleefully.

"If you ever need anything else," said Cobb, watching as Yusuf moved forward and examined the materials at his disposal, "just be sure to let Saito know."

There was a murmur from Yusuf that sounded suspiciously like "rich bastard!"

Cobb turned to leave. Behind him, Ariadne whispered something indiscernible to the chemist. Then her footsteps followed Cobb's out of Yusuf's lab.

"You're doing well around here," Cobb noted. He cast a glance at her; she seemed unable to stop smiling and her fatigue from the morning appeared to have dissipated after meeting Yusuf.

She nodded and ducked her head at the floor of the warehouse, as if she were afraid of showing her grin. "Say, Cobb," she said after a moment. "I've been wondering..."

She trailed off, twitching her mouth to one side.

"Ariadne?" asked Cobb.

"Sorry." She exhaled slowly. "I was just thinking if Arthur is going to teach me everything. Are you going to work with me at any point? Outside of dreams, I mean."

At this, Cobb stopped walking.

He hadn't thought about it. He had, indeed, planned that Arthur would teach Ariadne basically everything she needed to know regarding paradoxical architecture, and Cobb had assumed that Ariadne had already learned all the required knowledge in her years in university. He'd only planned on overseeing her work.

_You owe it to Miles, _said a voice in his head contemptuously. _You owe it to her and to Miles. You took her from her studies and you promised Miles she'd be safe. Teach her so that when she's done with this job, she can leave and not be trapped in this hell hole you're stuck in._

"Cobb?" Ariadne's voice came from beside him.

He emerged from his thoughts with a jolt. "Sorry," he apologized. "But yes. I'll work with you a bit."

His architect looked a lot more relieved. She spared him a sidelong glance. "Have you heard from Eames? Where exactly did he go in such a hurry two hours ago?"

Right. After his meeting with Eames and Saito, the former had torn from their meeting place and called back to them something along the lines of "Take care of darling - I'll be back in a few!" Cobb suspected he was heading to Fischer. How he had the guts to do so Cobb could not fathom whatsoever.

"He went to do some research on Fischer's god-father, or the like," said the extractor. "Once Eames gets an idea in his head, it's basically impossible to make him let go of it. He's... what's the word - "

"Headstrong?" Ariadne offered helpfully.

"Yes. Thank you. He's headstrong. Unlike Arthur, who actually considers other ideas and thinks things through..."

There was a small cough from his architect. He looked over and saw her face tinged ever so slightly a shade of pink. Something within him seemed to ignite with annoyance, and he bit back a harsh retort, instead inquiring rather tersely, "Interested in Arthur?"

She shot him a wide-eyed look of genuine surprise and immediately, he felt bad. "No, no," said Ariadne. "Arthur? No. He's gay." She paused. "He _is_ gay, right?"

Truth be told, Cobb hadn't really thought about it. All at once he felt relegated to a bystander instead of Arthur's closest friend. "I hadn't... noticed."

"Whoops," said Ariadne. "My bad. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean..."

"No, no. It's okay," he told her. He had at once remembered Arthur's discomfort when Ariadne had seemed to understand him more than the point man seemed capable of doing at the time. Cobb remembered Arthur's dejection and quickly put on a smile. "Sometimes a fresh perspective helps a lot, especially around here. You know, in more ways than helping out your coworkers' love lives."

"Thanks," said the young architect dryly.

"You're welcome," he replied, before allowing his hand to rub his eyes tiredly. "Did you want to get started now? With your lesson?"

Ariadne blinked – she seemed to have forgotten about it. But she smiled brightly at him. "Yeah. I'd like that."

"I'd like that, too," said Cobb. He realized a split second later that yes, yes, he would like it.

* * *

Arthur shut the door to the warehouse with a click. He'd left Eames on his own to leave and to find Fischer, and came back to… to what? He didn't really know why he came back. Arthur had wanted some space to himself and Eames gave it to him willingly, hopping on a plane to go research Fischer and Browning.

But Arthur came back regardless, without knowing what he was doing. Perhaps he could acquaint himself with Ariadne some more. She was intelligent and Arthur genuinely liked her.

He heard voices from the back corner of the warehouse. _Cobb genuinely likes her, too. That's good. That's really good._

There was a giggle and then a slight chuckle followed nearly immediately after. _They genuinely like each other._ And if they'd been glaring at each other earlier, they had certainly gotten over it.

He thought of Mal's death all of a sudden. He thought of her as an enigma, and in truth, he realized that Ariadne was nearly her opposite. Yet, just as essential as Mal was to Cobb's life for so many years, Ariadne was just as essential to helping him through the pain of her death. Arthur had tried – lord, did Arthur try – but Cobb was unreachable, drawn in himself like a pained, quiet, low ocean tide. And Eames rarely came into contact with both Cobb and Arthur, but whenever he did, Arthur would urge him to reach out to the despairing man who was stricken with the loss of his wife and the inability to see his children. And yet, all of Arthur's and Eames's efforts seemed futile. Cobb would only retreat further into himself and as well as his lucid dreams.

But Ariadne… he didn't know how she did it. Slowly but surely, she seemed able to clear him up like the sky after a storm.

Arthur found the two of them at the back of the warehouse, hunched over a textbook. Ariadne had a grid notebook in her lap while Cobb had several sheets of paper, one on top of the other, spread in over the table with diagrams drawn all over them.

"You've been busy," said Arthur knowingly. They both looked up at once; Ariadne smiled widely and waved him over.

"I'm making him teach me what I'm missing at university," she said. Her voice dropped to a dramatic whisper. "I think I know more architecture than he does." She pursed her lips, as if caught participating in a scandalous affair.

"I'm right here," said Cobb, though his tight-lipped expression gave way to a slight grin.

Ariadne rolled her eyes. "I'm _kidding._ In all honesty, I feel a lot better after having this lesson. Thank you," she said to Cobb, who began to stand up from the table.

"Of course," he said. "Arthur, where did you leave Eames?"

"In his dog house."

"Funny," said Cobb.

Arthur shrugged. "He's somewhere. He jumped on the next plane available to god-knows-where in order to find Browning. So unorganized."

There was a moment of silence. "Are you alright?" inquired Ariadne quietly.

Arthur frowned. His brows furrowed together in contemplation. In truth, he was still skeptical about Ariadne's inclusion within the team, but she was wonderful and intelligent and was a change of pace from what Arthur was used to. But, then again, no one could tell outwardly how Arthur was feeling – not since that once job four years ago, which both Cobb and Arthur had tried so much to put behind them. The point man had gotten better, but he had a knack since then at shoving emotions deep within himself.

"I don't know," he said honestly. "But I'd wanted some time to myself and he gave it to me. By ditching me and flying off to another continent."

Arthur didn't miss the pointed look shared between Ariadne and Cobb, but he didn't comment on it either. Instead, he sat himself down in one of the chairs at the table and looked up at Cobb. "Cobb, I'm going to go to the states."

Cobb suddenly appeared to be very uncomfortable. "We'll be going soon, Arthur. It's not like you'll be missing an opportunity."

"I want to go before that," said Arthur. "If you want, I can take something there for James and Phillipa. A box of cracker jacks, maybe. You decide. It's up to you."

"I don't have anything to give," said Cobb, looking somewhat guilty. "I gave some things to Miles several weeks ago to take to them."

Arthur looked around the warehouse for a second before turning his eyes back to the extractor. "At any rate, I'm going to go soon."

"Can I ask why?" said Ariadne.

"Well," Arthur began, smacking his lips, "I think I'll be able to find more intelligence over there. Regarding, in Eames's words, 'Fishy.'"

"Fischer," Cobb corrected automatically. "And if you really want to, feel free."

Arthur stood up from the chair and nodded at both Cobb and Ariadne, before rubbing his hands together. "Thank you," said Arthur politely. "I can always count on you. Oh, and by the way – Yusuf was looking for you." It was true. Arthur had nearly forgotten, but the thought weighed in at the last second.

"Oh. Uh – thanks." The extractor shifted uncomfortably. "Did he say about what?"

"He set up a PASIV device for you to use."

"Great," said Cobb, and he hurried away. Confused at his sudden departure, Ariadne looked at Arthur, who simply raised his eyebrows at her.

* * *

It was dark when Ariadne decided to pack her things up and head back to her studio. She'd had a good time speaking with Arthur and learned that despite all the irksome love Eames used to annoy Arthur with, the forger had good intentions and a good heart, and Arthur truly did regard him as a friend.

"You should probably head home," said Arthur, looking at his watch. "Do you have a car?"

"I walked," she told him.

"Great. Get your jacket and I'll be there soon to walk you home."

She regarded him doubtfully. "I don't want to be a hassle, Arthur. Seriously. Go home and get some sleep."

Arthur smiled. "As if. The second I drop you off, I'm heading to my hotel to do more unnecessary research for Cobb. You're not holding me back from anything." He nodded toward the front of the warehouse. "Go get your jacket. I'll be right there."

So she did – she gathered her belongings and slipped into her light jacket before starting to cross to the door. Ariadne figured that Cobb had packed up and gone home already – his jacket was gone and there was no trace of him anywhere.

Until she passed Yusuf's small, walled-off lab. With the PASIV device. And Cobb, lying in a lounge chair, with an IV in his wrist and his chest moving up and down peacefully with the shallow breathing of the PASIV machine.

Yusuf was sitting with a clipboard in his lap quietly, glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He glanced up at her before giving her a very slight shake of his head and moving a pointer finger to his lips.

"_Shh,"_ he mouthed.

And Ariadne felt the doubt creep back in – the doubt of her actions, of how much she was really doing to help Cobb.

Taking one last glance at the extractor and the chemist (and inwardly praying he was only using the PASIV tonight to simply test the waters, not for any other reason), Ariadne left Yusuf's lab and waited for Arthur to walk her home.

* * *

**Has it been a year since I'd updated? Almost?**

**Well, considering that almost nothing in this category is updated anymore… oh well. I don't want to say Inception's had its run. But this happens. I hope someday we'll have a surge of inspiration. For now, I'll do my best to continue with this.**

**It's been two years since I'd updated Top Never Ending. I'll get to it.**

**I hope you all review. Thank you for sticking with me. My hardest year of high school has passed – now onto senior year and college applications. After those, school should be easier, and I'll be able to (hopefully) keep up with these fics.**

**Keep writing, everyone! Thanks for reading and I hope you review. **


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